


Something New Every Day

by ifitwasribald



Series: Something New Every Day [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Painplay, Sex Club, Undercover Missions, Undercover in a Sex Club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifitwasribald/pseuds/ifitwasribald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony never expected that Nick Fury of all people would send him to a sex club.  He definitely never expected Bruce Banner to accompany him there.</p>
<p>But at the end of the day, Tony's pretty good at coping with the unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【翻譯】Something New Every Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4798760) by [sandykill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandykill/pseuds/sandykill)



“A sex club.”

“Yes.” Fury’s eyes narrowed, as if he could, by sheer force of will, prevent Tony from making a joke.

He should have known better. 

“See, _this_ is my kind of espionage.” Tony tossed off a mocking salute. “I am thrilled to be of service to my country. OK, not my country per se, but ‘thrilled to be of service to my sketchy quasi-governmental spy agency’ lacks poetry.” He glanced around the room, taking in Natasha and Clint’s grim expressions. “Do they teach that in S.H.I.E.L.D. training? The glare thing,” he clarified, gesturing at them and then at Fury’s face on the viewscreen, “or do you just pick it up from proximity to him?”

Fury’s jaw clenched. “Stark, you need to take this seriously. We’ve got an emergency on our hands.”

“An emergency that can only be resolved by sending me undercover to a sex club? I think I’m treating this with all the seriousness it merits.”

“Believe me when I tell you that we’ve considered every other option. But we’ve got less than twenty-four hours on the clock, and the club is our last shot at getting a bug on this guy. And,” Fury’s glare managed to intensify, which just a moment ago Tony would have sworn was impossible, “you’re our only shot at getting into the club.”

“The place is invitation only, references required,” Natasha explained. “But one of the patrons we’ve tracked down is an old associate of yours. Between that and the proprietor’s fondness for celebrity clients, we think we can get you in tonight. For anybody else it would take weeks to develop the connections.”

“So, not undercover then. Just me, going to a sex club.” He was surprised to find that he didn’t entirely relish the notion. But God knew his reputation had seen worse, and with less reason.

“The proprietor will know who you are. But she’s known for her discretion—you should be able to keep a low profile.”

“And who’s the guy that’s worth all this?”

Fury’s expression didn’t change as he answered, but Tony thought he could hear the disgust in his voice. “Joram Metzger.”

Tony felt his chest tighten. He’d never met the man, never had any direct dealings with him, but his name had come up more than once in Obie’s files. “OK, sign me up.” He forced his face to relax, and kept his tone light. “Do I have a date?”

Clint raised two fingers. “That’d be me. But, uh—“

“It’s not just any sex club.” Fury looked as if discussing this subject, or maybe just discussing it with Tony, caused him actual physical pain.

“It’s a gay club?” Tony laughed. “Really not a problem.”

"It is a gay club," Fury confirmed. "But my point was going to be that it's… dedicated to sadomasochistic practices."

Tony felt his eyebrows shoot up, but he made no reply.

"Dominance, submission," Fury continued. "For the love of God, Stark, stop me any time."

"Yeah, OK. I got it. Not exactly a blushing virgin over here."

Natasha looked him up and down. "You and Barton are going to need some training to fit in."

Tony gave her his best leer. "What makes you think I don't have it already? Clint's gonna look good on his knees—this is going to be easy."

"Barton isn't going to be the one on his knees, Stark."

Tony blinked. "Really? 'Cause, I'm pretty sure that isn't going to be me."

"Pretty sure it is," Natasha told him, an amused quirk to her lips. "We've only got twenty-four hours to train you, and that’s nothing like the kind of time we’d need to make you a convincing Dom."

“What’s unconvincing about me as the dominant one?” He gestured at himself. “Superhero, billionaire, run my own company.”

“Pepper runs your company,” Natasha corrected.

“Well, OK, true, but I run Pepper.” He blinked. “Yeah, no, backing away from that statement as quickly as possible. But the point stands. Billionaire superhero, pretty sure I’m qualified to top.”

Natasha snorted. “The fact that you think that has anything to do with it is why Barton’s playing the Dom.”

Tony’s eyes flicked over to Clint, who gave an uncomfortable nod.

"I thought we both needed training."

"You do,” Natasha agreed, a little more fervently than his ego might have preferred. “But Clint's got years of experience working undercover, and you don't. And an inexperienced sub’s going to stand out a hell of a lot less than a new Dom." She opened her mouth again, as if she had another reason to share, but brought her lips together without voicing it.

Tony watched her with annoyed suspicion for a moment before turning back to Fury. "OK, whatever, I'm still in. When do we start?"

"Agent Hill will be sending over the equipment. Agent Romanoff has agreed to train both of you. I just hope to God she can pull it off."

 

Six hours later, Tony had been prodded and warned, walked through several obsequious rituals, shorn of his trademark beard, and squeezed into a black leather getup that covered up the arc reactor and very little else.

But Natasha hadn’t finished with them yet. She gave a sharp “again,” and he sank to his knees and gazed up at Clint with what he hoped was a reasonable approximation of respect and arousal, awaiting an order.

“Hands behind your back.” Clint looked down at him with a stern expression plastered all over his face. But when Tony opened his mouth and tried to spit out a "yes Sir," Clint’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and Tony lost his battle to keep a straight face.

Natasha huffed out a sigh. "Let's try the walking again," she suggested, strain coming through in her voice.

Clint took a few steps forward, and Tony did his best to rise gracefully and follow, ready to sink back to his knees when Clint stopped. But he overshot when Clint paused sooner than expected, and Clint reached out uncertainly, tugging at Tony's sleeve in a weak attempt to bring him to heel. Tony glanced at Clint’s hand on his arm, and, after a moment’s internal struggle, forced himself to follow the implied command. "Can we maybe revisit the issue of which of us is in charge?"

A soft chuckle came from the direction of the kitchen. "I don't think that's gonna help." Bruce appeared in the doorway, a slightly puzzled look on his face. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish?”

"Natasha's teaching us how to infiltrate a sex dungeon,” Tony told him, grinning. “Supposedly it's for a mission, but I'm starting to think she's just screwing with us to get her rocks off."

Natasha snorted. "I have much better options for my personal satisfaction."

Bruce leaned against the door frame and watched them expectantly, as if awaiting further explanation. Tony offered it. "Guy's name is Joram Metzger—mid level mobster, specializes in getting exotic weapons to people who really shouldn't have them. Used to be one of Obie’s biggest customers.” Tony kept his tone under control at that, but only barely. “Apparently he's got some kind of alien tech that's shielding him from normal surveillance. I’ve got a bug that’ll get through, but S.H.I.E.L.D.'s brilliant plan for getting it on him involves sending me to a sex club.” He forced a grin. “Which: not a bad strategy, I mean,” he gestured at himself, “what could be more distracting than this?"

Bruce didn’t smile. "What club?"

Natasha frowned, watching his face. "It's called Cruci."

A harsh bark of laughter erupted from Bruce’s lips. "Find another way to get the guy.”

"We've tried. There isn't one."

Bruce took a few steps towards them. "I'm not kidding. You can't send the two of them to a place like that. They’re going to stand out like… what’s _more_ obvious than a sore thumb?”

Natasha arched an eyebrow. “You’ve been there?”

“No,” Bruce answered, a little too quickly. “But I, uh, know it by reputation. It attracts an experienced clientele." He cast his eyes over Clint and Tony, a tight, assessing gaze. From Tony's position, on his knees on the floor, there was something oddly compelling about the look, and he was almost sorry when it shifted back to Natasha. "They go in there like that, they're going to be spotted in minutes. What happens then?"

Natasha opened her mouth to answer, but Clint beat her to it. "We’ll have a team outside. _If_ we get made, they come in and get us.”

Bruce’s lips press together. “You’re wasting your time. And if this guy is that dangerous—“

Tony didn't rise, but looked up at Bruce until Bruce returned his gaze. "It’s worth a little risk.”

Bruce took a couple of steps over, until Tony had to crane his neck up to meet Bruce’s eyes. He seemed to think for a moment. "It's that important?" His eyes flicked from Tony to Natasha to Clint, and back to Tony.

Tony nods. "Yeah."

"And for this to work, you have to get in and get out without drawing attention?"

"Right," Clint confirmed.

"And there's nobody you can send who— no offense, but who looks like they've so much as laid eyes on an S&M club before?"

Natasha shakes her head. "Tony's the only one we can get an invite for."

"But it doesn't have to be Clint."

"No. It really doesn’t," Clint confirmed, and eyed Bruce speculatively. "You volunteering, Doc?"

Bruce looked up at the ceiling and let out a long breath. "God help me," he muttered, "but... yeah." He turned to Natasha. “How much time do we have?”

“You need to be in the car in forty-five minutes.”

He looked at her like he couldn’t quite believe his ears. “You were going to send them to Cruci tonight?”

She shrugged. “It’s not a perfect plan. It’s just the only plan we’ve got. They can handle themselves.”

Bruce ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath. “OK.” He turned to Tony. “We need to talk. Privately.”

Natasha and Clint took the hint and gave them the room, and Tony got to his feet. “You OK to do this?”

Bruce laughed in that regretful, slightly bitter way that he usually reserved for jokes about the Other Guy. “That was going to be my question for you.”

Tony grinned and gestured at himself, running a finger over one of the leather straps across his chest. “I’ve been briefed. I know what I’m getting into.”

“Do you?” Bruce’s eyes seemed to search him, and for a moment Tony found himself at a loss for words.

Finally he nodded. “Yes.”

“I’ll have to touch you.”

Tony swallowed. Something about the way Bruce said it made it sound more like a threat than it had any reason to be. He blinked and shook his head. “You touch me all the time. You _hand_ me things, and I don’t know if you know this, but—“

A little smile spread across Bruce’s face, but he banished it quickly. “I know. But this is… different. It will have to look… intimate. And I might have to do more than touch.”

Tony tried to produce his usual grin. “Hey, I have no problem with that. A handsome genius wants to sex me up, I do not mind if there’s a little pain involved. Or an audience.”

Bruce didn’t answer. He kept his gaze steady and waited, and after a moment Tony let the grin drop.

“I know what kind of club this is. Whatever you have to do to make it look real, I can take it.”

Bruce waited a moment more and gave a sharp nod. “Do you have anything— I need you to tell me if there’s anything you need me to steer clear of.”

Tony shook his head, but couldn’t force himself to meet Bruce’s eyes.

“We don’t have to do this at all,” Bruce told him softly.

“Make sure I can breathe,” he managed. “Make sure I don’t choke.”

When he finally glanced up, Bruce gave a solemn nod. “OK. Tell me they at least explained safewords.”

“I say ‘red,’ you stop.”

“And you say it any time you need to.”

The way Bruce said it felt more intimate already than a fair amount of the actual sex that Tony had had in his life. It wasn’t bad, but it felt… intense, in a way that he couldn’t stop himself from deflecting. “I can take whatever you can dish out, Banner,” he assured Bruce with a smirk.

But Bruce ignored the flippant answer. “I need to know you’ll use it if you need it. Don’t worry about looking out of place—even at a club like Cruci they’ll respect a safeword.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah.”

“OK. I need to get changed. I’ll meet you at the car. Try to relax until then.”

‘Try to relax’ had never been a concept that worked for Tony, particularly when it didn’t go hand in hand with ‘have a drink,’ so he spent the next half hour fiddling with the tracking devices instead. He practiced drawing one out of its hiding place, slipping it onto his finger, pressing down with just enough force to attach and activate without drawing too much attention. He’d never gone in for the cloak and dagger bit, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t manage the basics if he had to.

With a little prodding from JARVIS he started down with time to spare. He was surprised when the elevator slowed and stopped well before the garage—JARVIS knew well enough by now to keep his private elevator private.

Even when the doors opened, he didn’t immediately realize why JARVIS had made an exception. The man who stepped in carried himself with confidence. His dark suit emphasized a narrow waist and solid shoulders, and the open collar revealed a hint of chest hair. He looked virtually nothing like the man Tony had worked next to for months, who hid in baggy shirts and hunched shoulders, and shied away from any kind of social contact not primarily structured around scientific collaboration.

He also looked breathtakingly attractive, and the instant after Tony recognized him, he took a moment more to try to figure out why he’d never noticed that Bruce Banner was a stone cold fox. Brilliant, obviously, and with a sly wit and casual manner that Tony couldn’t help but appreciate, but now, as they shared twenty five square feet of space, give or take, he couldn’t muster the first clue why it hadn’t occurred to him to get Bruce into bed weeks ago.

“You look…” Tony trailed off, unable to come up with anything that Bruce couldn’t take the wrong way. “It’s a good look,” he amended.

“You should think so—you bought it.”

Right. He had, along with the rest of the wardrobe that Bruce so sorely lacked in the weeks after he moved into the Tower.

Definitely money well spent.

They didn’t speak again until after they settled themselves in the waiting car and the driver put up the privacy barrier.

“You’ve got the tracking devices?” Bruce asked.

Tony nodded, and handed one over, slipping the other into its hiding place in one of the leather cuffs around his wrists. “We press one against his skin and it’ll activate and burrow. It should cut through his shielding tech, and stay off the frequencies he’ll be monitoring.” He considered explaining further, and under most circumstances he would have, but Bruce watched him with narrowed eyes and seemed to have some other agenda on his mind.

“We should be able to get away with just watching. Most clubs don’t have a problem if you don’t play on your first visit. Keep your eyes on the ground and keep your mouth shut unless I ask you a question or tell you to answer somebody else’s.”

“That’s it?”

“No.” There was regret in Bruce’s eyes as he held up a band of leather with a long, slender chain attached. “It’ll be easier if you wear this.”

Tony regarded it for a moment, and then looked back at Bruce. “OK. Do you wanna—“

Bruce swallowed and shook his head. He handed the thing over, and Tony buckled it around his throat and glanced at Bruce for his approval.

Bruce hesitated. “A little tighter.”

Right. Sure. He did as he was told, shifting the leather one more notch. It hugged the skin of his neck—not closely enough to cut off his air, or even be really uncomfortable, but tight enough. He suspected he wouldn’t be able to forget the sensation of the leather against his throat it as long as he had it on.

The car came to a gentle stop, and Tony took a breath. “After you,” he told Bruce, gesturing as if he were spontaneously allowing Bruce to take the lead. As if he hadn’t already agreed to act like his… sex slave, or whatever.

As they stepped through the club's doors, Bruce took hold of the end of the delicate chain without comment and led him through the antechamber to the front desk. The woman standing there looked them over with calculating eyes and then nodded. "We've been expecting you. Welcome to Cruci, Mr. Smith."

Tony couldn't help a little snort at the transparently false name, but a sharp tug on his collar reminded him that he had a part to play. He slid to his knees and stayed there as the woman ran through the club's rules of conduct, addressing Bruce throughout and largely ignoring Tony. Her eyes only wandered back to Tony's face for a brief moment at the end of her spiel. "This one must be a challenge."

Bruce smiled with a rich satisfaction Tony had never seen on his face. "But worth it."

"I can imagine." She waved at the door into the club. "Enjoy."

"I'm sure I will." The chain jerked as Bruce strode in, and Tony scrambled to his feet to follow.

Tony let out a breath of relief to find the next room dimly lit, the light low enough that, in this outfit and without his signature goatee, he was unlikely to be recognized. He kept his head down anyway, as instructed, but couldn’t keep his eyes from darting over the room.

No one was actually fucking—apparently that took place elsewhere. Several of the men Tony took to be Doms stood in a cluster near the bar, chatting as their subs stood or knelt behind them. Two of the subs wore nothing but collars, the others clad in various concoctions of leather or latex. One man sat on a couch in the corner, his partner stretched naked across his lap, and another sat on a low chair, idly fondling the front of his sub’s tight leather pants he chatted casually with another Dom. 

Bruce stopped in an out of the way corner. Tony glanced at him, unsure if he was expected to kneel. Probably. Feeling more than a little bit ridiculous, he dropped to his knees and put his hands behind his back. Bruce made a soft little humming noise, and ran his fingers through Tony’s hair. The gesture felt somehow both reassuring and possessive, and probably it was simply the presence of so many very obviously aroused men, but Tony felt a shiver of desire at the touch. He tamped it down and tried to concentrate—Metzger wasn’t anywhere in the room, and no one there matched any of the descriptions of his associates either. They’d have to wait for him to show.

Bruce apparently reached the same conclusion, because he found an empty armchair and settled into it. Tony followed, and allowed Bruce to pull him close enough to rest his cheek against Bruce’s thigh.

He kept his head bowed, but after they settled he felt Bruce’s fingers under his cheek, nudging his gaze up.

“You can watch,” he murmured, and let his fingers slide down to rub gently along Tony’s throat, down to his collarbone and up his carotid artery and back again. 

The touch, light but almost threatening, sent signals racing through Tony’s body, and he realized with something approaching embarrassment that he wasn’t going to have to feign arousal. By the time a guy matching Metzger’s description strode in, Tony had abandoned the idea of hiding his erection, and moved on to the hope that Bruce would assume it was just part of the act.

Moments after he laid eyes on Metzger, Bruce got to his feet and started for the bar at the other side of the room. Bruce didn’t intend to waste any time, then. Good. The sooner they got the tracker on Metzger, the sooner they’d be able to slip away. And whatever his cock might have to say on the subject, getting the hell out of the club remained high on Tony’s agenda.

But not as high as getting that sonofabitch.

He scrambled to stand and follow along behind Bruce, slipping the tracker out from under his cuff as he went. When they passed Metzger, Bruce quickened his gait to make the leash stretch taut, and Tony let himself fall just far enough to catch himself on Metzger’s arm.

But before he could get the device secured, Metzger shoved him away, sending him tumbling to the floor. Bruce’s arm clasped his waist just before he landed, allowing him to shift into a kneeling position at Bruce’s feet.

"Watch your boy," Metzger told Bruce, his voice icy. "Just because he’s pretty is no reason not to keep him under control."

Tony half expected Bruce to murmur an apology and make for the other side of the room. Instead, he drew up to his full height and took one menacing step toward Metzger. "You really think I don’t?” Somehow all the force of the Hulk came through in Bruce’s mild tone, and Tony couldn’t resist the temptation to glance up to see if his eyes had turned. 

They remained Bruce’s usual brown, but with a rough air of authority to them that Tony had never seen.

Metzger was the first to look away, and Tony shifted his own gaze back to the ground as quickly as he could.

“I’m sure you’re fully capable of handling him,” Metzger offered, his tone suddenly almost conciliatory, if not convincingly so. “I’d enjoy seeing you bring him to heel,” he added, and Tony suppressed a little shudder at the open desire in his voice. “I suspect it would be… stimulating.”

Bruce gave a dismissive little snort, tugged Tony upright, and continued to the bar without another word. Tony followed along and waited, wondering if he was meant to kneel again. He couldn’t quite tell, but didn’t feel a bit eager to do it, so he remained standing as Bruce ordered. They were still waiting when Metzger disappeared through the large double doors on the far wall. 

A moment later Bruce accepted a bottle of water from the bartender, turned to Tony and gave him a slightly disapproving look.

It took Tony a moment to remember to drop his eyes to the floor. Bruce made a little humming noise that almost sounded like amusement, and not for the first time Tony wondered if he was ever going to hear the end of it after the mission was over. 

Bruce grasped his shoulder and whispered into his ear. “You going to be OK if we follow him in there?”

Tony blinked, unsure of what Bruce meant, until he realized that the room Metzger had left for had to be where the actual fucking—and other things—happened. As he parted his lips to tell Bruce not to worry about him, another couple paused at the bar beside them, close enough to hear his answer. “Yes, Sir,” he murmured instead, head bowed, but eyes angled up to catch Bruce’s face.

Bruce seemed to lose focus for a split second, but recovered himself quickly and gave a sharp little nod. 

When they passed through the doorway, Bruce stepped to one side and drew Tony to stand just in front of him. Then he reached around to run two fingers up Tony’s chest and over his adam's apple, pushing his chin upward. Tony struggled for a moment to keep his eyes on the floor anyway, until Bruce murmured "look."

He did as he was told, surveying the room. He should have sought out Metzger immediately, but a guy could be forgiven for being distracted. Immediately in front of them a very attractive young man writhed under some kind of flogger. The welts on his back looked real enough, but to listen to him you'd think he was on the receiving end of the best blow job of his life. Tony had never gone in for pain with his sex—a little scratching, sure, but spanking had always fallen somewhere between "silly" and "annoying," and nothing else had ever particularly appealed. But hell, if it were like that— 

He swallowed, and let his eyes drift over the rest of the room. One guy knelt on some kind of bench contraption, bound to it at wrists and ankles as he got plowed from both ends. Another was trussed up on a frame. Nobody was doing anything to him, though as Tony continued to survey the situation he realized that a Dom on the other side of the room was keeping a careful eye. 

A handful of other frames and benches dotted the floor, unused for the moment. A number of couples, and a few people who didn't seem to be with anyone in particular, stood or sat or knelt along the edges of the room. Metzger wandered casually among them, occasionally letting his hand trail over the hips or ass or back of a sub as he passed.

Tony returned his gaze to the center of the room, where an older man allowed himself to be bent backwards over a bench. His Dom carried a coil of rope, and began a series of elaborate loops and knots, drawing the sub into a position that, to Tony's eyes, looked not at all comfortable. Though judging by the sub's prominent erection, he really didn’t mind.

A throaty laugh wrenched his attention back to Bruce. "Like what you see?" Bruce asked, and Tony swallowed and reminded himself that the question was for show.

"Yes, Sir," he said again. The phrase was an easy default, probably good for all sex club occasions. And also, at the moment, surprisingly honest.

"Good." The rich satisfaction in Bruce's voice made its way straight into some of the darker recesses of Tony's brain, and he had to concentrate to keep his legs steady as Bruce walked him over to a low couch. 

When Bruce sat, Tony moved to kneel to one side, but Bruce grasped him by the waist and maneuvered him to perch on the edge of the cushion. One of Bruce’s hands laced in Tony’s hair and drew him close enough that they could talk without being overheard, while the other hand roved over Tony’s exposed skin. "I'm sorry about this," he murmured. 

Tony swallowed, trying to find a coherent answer, but more than a little distracted by Bruce's casual touch. It was completely ridiculous that his body would respond like this. God knew he was no blushing virgin. He'd received blow jobs from supermodels, fucked gorgeous Olympians, been fucked by beautiful actors, and tried out most of the positions in the Kama Sutra. But the way Bruce touched him, like he had the right, like Bruce possessed him with a few simple gestures—it left Tony so hard he'd swear he could hammer nails with his dick if he could only stop trembling with the desire to bend over and get himself well and truly fucked.

And Bruce was apologizing for it. Because, Tony reminded himself, this was all an act, even if his cock felt otherwise. 

"No problem," Tony managed to whisper back, going for nonchalant but likely missing it by a couple of miles.

Bruce's hand stopped on Tony's stomach, running one finger over the top of his pants. It was a fucking tease, and Tony couldn't help but wish for his hand to move lower, to take down the zip of his fly and fist him right here in front of— Tony took a breath and forced himself to think of the mission. “We need a new plan—we’re not going to get away with the ‘oops I fell’ bit twice.”

“No,” Bruce agreed, his voice grim.

Tony continued to watch the room while Bruce toyed with him. Every inch of his skin felt alive, attuned to Bruce's proximity, and the visuals didn’t exactly help keep his mind on the job. Bruce's demeanor screamed that he'd done this kind of thing before, and as Tony's eyes swept over the various pairings and threesomes, he couldn't help but wonder exactly what Bruce had done, what he'd liked, who he'd done it with.

Tony took another breath and forced himself to concentrate on Metzger, who stood next to one of the subs on the floor. The guy’s Dom had paused for the moment, apparently to admire his own handiwork etched on the sub's back. Metzger watched with a predatory gleam in his eye, and leaned in to run his fingers over a particularly angry welt.

Tony heard a quick hiss of breath beside him, and glanced over at Bruce's face. He'd gone a shade paler, but his eyes were sharp and intent as they stayed on Metzger.

An instant later, his attention shifted back to Tony. "Eyes on the floor or on what's in front of you, not on me."

Tony returned his eyes to Metzger, who'd struck up a conversation with the Dom, and continued to explore the sub's body with one hand. Something about the scene had surprised Bruce, or upset him, but Tony couldn't quite figure out what. "What did I miss?" he asked, voice low.

Bruce swallowed. "I've got a very bad idea.”

Tony tensed, not sure if it was with real concern or with arousal at the warning in Bruce’s voice. Both, probably. He forced himself to relax. “Care to be a little more specific?”

Bruce didn’t look at him, didn’t still the hand that continued to roam over Tony’s body. “Metzger’s handsy. It’s very bad form to touch someone else’s sub without permission.” Bruce kept his tone low and almost sultry. Someone standing only a couple of feet away would assume that he was whispering a series of not-so-sweet nothings. 

Tony drew in a long breath and forced himself to focus on the words and not the tone. “And?”

“It’s bad form, but the Doms at this club let him, and so does the staff. I’m guessing he has a reputation and they don’t want to mess with him, so he thinks he has free rein.” His voice grew progressively darker as he spoke, and Tony’s eyes flicked up to gauge his expression. Bruce seemed to notice, and let out a long breath before continuing. “I’m obviously new to this club, so—“ He paused for a moment. “If he touched you, it would be natural for me to grab him to get his hands off you. He might be annoyed, but I doubt he’d be suspicious.”

Tony suppressed a little shudder at the idea of Metzger touching him, but it wouldn’t be for long. “And when you grab him you plant the bug. OK, let’s do it.”

Bruce hesitated, the hand on Tony suddenly still.

“What?” Tony murmured.

“Look at which subs he’s interested in.”

Tony did look, but it took him a few long minutes to get the pattern. Metzger wasn’t groping people at random—every time he reached out, his fingers unerringly fell on welts or bruises or marks. And his eyes continued to flick back to the sub getting flogged, and another whose Dom was getting artistic with a riding crop.

Oh.

He’d meant it when he told Bruce he could take whatever he had to, but as he watched Metzger enjoy the pain of the subs he favored, Tony shivered a little. He'd thought that this would be more or less like any mission. He'd been injured before, and tortured, and no way would Bruce do anything worse than any of that. But this felt different, like he'd be opening himself up, exposing himself to everyone in the club. To Metzger. To Bruce. He couldn’t quite suppress a little tremor.

But, he reminded himself, however it turned out, whatever he had to do, getting this bastard would be worth it.

"Yeah," he whispered to Bruce. "I see it." He took a breath. "Think you can get his attention?"

Bruce hand hadn't started moving again, and Tony could feel the tension radiating off him. "You sure?"

"I'm sure."

Bruce stood suddenly, nearly sending him tumbling to the ground. But one strong hand wrapped around his upper arm and hauled him to his feet. Bruce led the way to a padded table, nearly waist-height. “Bend over.” The leather padding felt cold against Tony’s chest, and he had to force himself down against it, trying to ignore the way the position left his ass displayed to Bruce and most of the room.

Bruce drew his hands up and locked metal cuffs over each wrist, keeping his arms stretched up and over his head, pulling muscles of his back tight. Tony made an effort to relax into the position, but it was too much. He could see almost nothing of the room, had no idea where Metzger was or what anyone was doing. He knew how to pick handcuffs, but didn't have so much as a paperclip to do it with, and from what he could determine by pulling against them, these weren't trick cuffs. Unease overrode arousal, and he drew in a couple of too-quick breaths that didn't seem to bring in enough air.

And then Bruce's hand was on the back of his neck, stroking him in an oddly soothing pattern. "You're OK. I've got you." Something small and cold pressed into one of Tony's palms, and after a moment he realized it was a key. Tony felt himself relax marginally, shifting so that he could keep it in reach without telegraphing the fact that he had it.

Bruce bent to bring his lips close to Tony's ear. "I can't say I'm not going to hurt you," Bruce whispered, his voice thick with regret. "But I swear to you that you'll be safe."

Tony reminded himself, again, that Bruce would never damage him, would never hurt him in any way that counted. That Bruce's promise of safety was one he could count on. "Do your worst, Banner," he whispered.

Bruce gave a short laugh, and whatever Tony had expected, it wasn't that. "Not even if you begged me.”

Before Tony could even begin to parse the response, Bruce moved away. He began to release the buckles along Tony's back, peeling away leather straps to bare his skin.

After Bruce pushed the last of the straps aside, Tony heard him speaking softly with someone else. It sounded like an order, or a request, and Tony couldn't tell what he was asking for, but under the circumstances he had some guesses. A paddle. A whip. One of those angry looking floggers that he'd seen one of the other couples using.

OK. That was OK. He couldn't tell what was coming, couldn't see Bruce, couldn't even tell quite where he was. But that was OK too. All he had to do was lie there, and take whatever happened, and trust that Bruce would make it—well, maybe not good exactly, but he'd make sure it was nothing Tony couldn't handle.

He lay there, face down and waiting, listening to the snare drum of his own heartbeat. After what felt like half an hour but was probably only a few minutes, Bruce laid a hand on his shoulder—just a quick touch, gone almost as soon as it came. A warning.

He heard a crack and felt pain explode across his back. He cursed, the surprise of the blow momentarily distracting him from their surroundings. He wasn't at all sure that cursing was the sort of thing a sub was supposed to do—he suspected that it wasn't—but goddamn, he hadn't expected that. He'd figured on a couple of easy taps, something showy, something to bring some color to his skin, but not— A second blow completely derailed his train of thought, and he only barely managed to keep silent. Two more and he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. All his nerves blazed hot, sending frantic signals urging fight or flight.

But he couldn't do either. Didn't have to do either. The pain was only that. It posed no threat, represented no danger. Bruce surely had his eye on Metzger, and on the rest of the room. He could make the call about what he had to do, and all Tony had to do was trust him.

He let out a slow breath, and when the next blow caught him, he felt it as some entirely different sensation—all the intensity of pain, grabbing his attention and grounding him in his skin, but none of the fear. Bruce didn't stop, but suddenly Tony found it easy to take. A clean, calm energy filled him, sharpening everything. The skin of his back still blazed, but he felt just as aware of the rest of him. His arms stretched above him, taut but strong. The leather pants pressed against his ass, pulled tight by the position, and in spite of the pain—yeah, definitely going with “in spite of”—his cock strained hot and hard against his zipper.

The blows kept falling, but not rhythmically—or not any rhythm that Tony could follow, anyway. Sometimes they came fast, two or three or four in a row until Tony couldn't quite bite back a gasp. And sometimes Bruce paused, and Tony could only lie there, waiting for the next strike, trying to listen as Bruce decided what else he wanted to do to Tony's body.

A gentle hand on his shoulder was his only clue that Bruce had paused for than a moment. The cuff on his left wrist opened with a click, and Bruce guided his arm back to his side and cupped his face, turning it toward him. Tony opened his eyes, only then realizing that he'd closed them in the first place, and saw Bruce standing over him. He’d removed the jacket of his suit and rolled up his shirtsleeves, and somehow his bare forearms and probing eyes made for a more profoundly erotic picture than any of the mostly naked men in the room.

"So good," Bruce murmured, loud enough to carry to the handful of spectators that had gathered nearby. "You’re so good for me." Bruce's thumb brushed over his cheek, stroking delicately, lovingly, in startling contrast to the hot hard fall of the whip. Tony couldn't quite process it. He felt stretched out, mind moving lazily, like he had nothing to worry about in the world. He knew better—knew he should focus on the mission, on whether his act was good enough, whether it would fool everyone in the club and draw Metzger close enough to tag. But with Bruce's soft eyes on him, he couldn’t drag himself out of the pleasant haze. He only barely managed the presence of mind to hope it fit the role he was meant to play.

Bruce held a bottle of water up, close enough to Tony’s face that he couldn’t quite bring it into focus. He felt a soft rasp of plastic at his lips and took the straw into his mouth, noticing his intense thirst only when he began to drink. He let his eyes drift closed as he sucked at the straw, but opened them again when he heard a low chuckle from behind Bruce.

"Tell me we get to watch him do that with something a little more substantial." The man raked his eyes over Tony's face, his back, his ass, and something about the gaze felt like the guy’s hands were all over him. It wasn’t like Tony didn’t know how it felt to have all eyes on him—eyes that assessed, eyes that _wanted_. But this felt different, demanding in a way that he couldn’t ignore. His mind replayed the suggestion, and he couldn’t help but imagine Bruce pulling away the straw, pulling out his cock and demanding that Tony suck on that instead. 

The straw fell away from Tony’s lips, and his tongue darted out to wet them. Whether because of or in spite of the stranger’s remark, he found that he couldn’t look away from the fly of Bruce’s pants. Tony knew from experience that a hard on could generally be pretty well concealed by a well tailored pair of slacks, but this close up he couldn’t miss the tell-tale shift in the fabric. Bruce was hard. 

Tony swallowed and wondered if there was the slightest chance Bruce was going to follow through on the stranger’s suggestion.

But, after a brief flash of what looked like temptation, Bruce shook his head. “Not tonight. Tonight I have other plans.” 

The easy certainty in Bruce's voice sent a little shiver down Tony's skin and made his cock throb in the tight confines of his pants. Tony knew it was an act, knew that Bruce's plans were only whatever he had to do to get Metzger's attention, plant the bug, and get out of there without arousing suspicion. But Bruce was too damn good at the charade, and Tony couldn't convince his dick to ignore it.

Bruce put the bottle down and rubbed one thumb over Tony's lips, wiping away the little hint of moisture there. "You remember your safeword?" he asked, his voice a warning.

"Yeah."

Bruce's hand slid up into Tony's hair and grabbed hard, forcing his head back and sending a little spike of pain down his spine. Distracted by the sharp spark of nerves, it took Tony longer than it should have to realize the reason. "Yes Sir," he corrected, and Bruce's lips curled in a satisfied smirk.

"Good."

Bruce cuffed Tony’s arm back into place and took a few steps, removing himself from Tony’s field of vision. One finger trailed down over the heated skin of Tony’s back, and kept on going to ghost over his ass. Tony let himself strain into the touch.

He heard an appreciative hum from one of the bystanders, and another murmured something about his responsiveness. He felt himself flush, his cheeks suddenly hot with embarrassment, and cursed himself for the reaction. He’d played parts all his life, usually for the benefit of one crowd or other, and as long as they served their purpose he had no reason to regret them. Even if this particular role had turned out to be far easier to slip into than he ever would have expected. 

All that careful logic fell aside when he felt Bruce's hands on the front of his pants, slipping one thumb inside to shield Tony’s erection from the zipper as he drew it down. Tony’s thighs trembled with the effort of holding himself still, and it took everything he had not to beg for more. He could claim that this too was a part of the act, but the evidence to the contrary strained against Bruce’s hand and gave him away. 

But Bruce ignored Tony's erection and dragged his pants down to mid thigh, and taking his briefs with them. Tony couldn’t quite keep himself from pulling against the cuffs as Bruce ran a hand over his ass, and the strangeness of the situation again asserted itself in his mind. Bruce leaned over him, bending close enough to whisper. “You can use your safeword. We’ll find another way.” The soft regret in his voice made Tony feel almost guilty until he recognized the hot pressure of Bruce’s dick pressed against his ass, and any such thoughts vanished from his mind.

He shook his head, maybe a little too vigorously, because Bruce gave a strained little laugh and moved away again. 

Tony heard the snap of latex, and felt a finger slide down over the cleft of his ass. He concentrated all his energy on keeping still as Bruce opened him, carefully, methodically. Bruce’s fingers kept clear of Tony’s prostate, focusing on stretching the muscles of his ass until Tony wanted to beg him to move things along. He’d nearly managed to convince himself that begging too could be passed off as part of his act when Bruce’s fingers withdrew, and then Tony couldn’t quite keep back a little noise of disappointment.

Bruce chuckled again, the sound rich and smug and a little bit showy. One hand caressed Tony’s ass as he felt something cold and smooth pause at his entrance. Tony froze for an instant, trying to figure out what it was, before he felt it slide in. Bruce's preparation had been careful enough that he felt no pain, only fullness as the plug settled inside him. 

He hardly had time to wonder why Bruce had used a plug before he felt it move again, just slightly, but in exactly the right place to make pleasure spark up his spine and down to his balls. He bit back the impulse to demand that Bruce do it again and waited, every nerve singing.

He didn't have to wait long. Bruce seemed to shift slightly, and then fierce pain shot through him, a sharp bite of pleasure fast on its heels. Tony heard the garbled cry coming from his own throat, and tried to pull himself together, at least enough to figure out what Bruce was doing to him. It took him two more strokes, mostly because each one overtook his thoughts, washed them away and made him start new. But by the fourth blow he could feel it—the strike of leather against his ass, making him clench around the plug, which sparked just right inside of him and turned him inside out.

Analyzing the sensations allowed him to find some grasp on himself, to keep a measure of control over the situation—or at least of his own thoughts. He managed to wonder if it was working, whether Metzger found the sight of him enticing enough to approach. But as the blows continued his interest in the question ebbed away. All he had to do to make their plan work—all he could do—was to play along, act like he wanted this desperately, like he'd do anything Bruce wanted. Not a challenging role to play.

So he let himself go, let the pleasure wash over him, drown him in sensation. He felt it building inside him, deep and hot in his belly, making his balls clench. His cock bobbed in the open air beneath the table, desperate for some kind of friction, but he could feel his orgasm approaching anyway, building up little by little until the rich heat filled him and he knew that he was a heartbeat from the edge.

But just before he reached it, the blows stopped, replaced by Bruce's hand giving a quick squeeze to Tony's thigh.

"He's lovely."

No mistaking Metzger's voice, possessive in an oily way that poured cold water all over Tony’s impending release. And then he felt it—what they’d been waiting for. One light finger traced down over his ass where the skin still blazed, only to disappear again almost instantly.

“He’s mine." The words were fierce and final, and only the presence of Metzger above him allowed Tony to ignore the heady pulse of want they sent racing through his blood. "No one touches him but me." Silence followed Bruce's words, and for a moment Tony wondered if the onlookers had given up breathing. "I'm sure you understand," Bruce continued, softening his tone.

Another beat, and then Metzger gave an unpleasant little laugh. "Of course," he agreed icily.

The club seemed to let out a collective breath as Metzger walked away.

Bruce's hand moved from Tony's thigh to his shoulder, and he bent close to whisper in Tony’s ear. "Got him. Just a little longer and we can stop.”

Tony choked down an absurd flare of hurt at the relief in Bruce's words. Only natural that Bruce would want the charade over with. Tony should want the same thing.

But when Bruce's hand traced down along his back, fingers trailing over his sore skin with a tender grace that felt unmistakably different from Metzger's touch, Tony felt pathetically grateful that they couldn't just go. That he could have just a little more of this, whatever it was.

Bruce started in again, the same as before, and almost immediately Tony heard his own voice turn desperate. The word "please" fell from his lips unbidden, and he only just kept "more" from following it. Some part of him registered that the crowd was eating this up, that they were enjoying watching him fall apart for their amusement. His eyes pricked with humiliation, thinking of the picture he must make, but even for his own pride he couldn't keep himself from begging for more with every line of his body.

His cock hung thick and heavy and bobbing with every blow as the plug sent pleasure thrilling through him, and he found himself back on the edge of release faster than he would have thought possible. His whole body trembled with it, ready, so ready, never readier in his whole life. His balls drew up and all his nerves sparked tight and fierce, almost there, almost— 

There was no warning, no slowing down. The blows simply stopped, and Tony lay there, waiting for that last tiny spark of "more" that would send him flying. But it didn't come. Instead he felt the plug leave him in a quick, clean motion that was just shy of enough. He heard Bruce's steps beside him, and then the sharp little click of the handcuffs.

"Wha—?" He couldn't help the protest, couldn't even regret it, in spite of the sharp look Bruce shot at him as he fastened the buckles on the back of Tony’s top.

“Done already?” Tony couldn’t have agreed more with the sentiment, but it was one of the men watching who gave it voice.

Bruce continued gently massaging his shoulders and arms where they remained stiff from being bound above his head, but he glanced over at the guy with a fierce grin that sent a dull pulse of need through Tony’s groin. “Not even close. You should see how he takes it when I've made him wait."

The pulse turned into a shudder, and for an instant Tony thought that the words, and the image they implied, had tipped him over into orgasm. But the sensation cleared without offering any relief, and Bruce pulled him upright.

Tony blinked, trying to force himself back to nonchalance. He reached down to pull his pants back on, but hesitated. He glanced at Bruce, who gave a sharp nod. "Put yourself together." But before Tony could do more than drag the tight leather up around his hips, Bruce tugged at the leash, forcing Tony to stumble close. "If you're very good," he murmured, the rough tone just loud enough to carry, "I'm going to fuck you raw when we get home."

Tony reminded himself that Bruce didn't mean it, that the words were nothing but an excuse to get them out of there quickly. Even so his hands trembled as he tried to fasten his pants, and in his haste it took him three tries to secure the top button.

Bruce barely waited for him to finish before striding out. Tony remembered to keep his head bowed as he followed.

Not five minutes separated writhing half naked under Bruce’s hand from sitting in the back of the familiar towncar, the transition so complete that only the dull ache of his ass and the sharper pain at his back convinced Tony that the whole experience had been more than a startlingly vivid fantasy.

Tony didn't move as Bruce pulled the door shut behind them. He was saved from the necessity of speaking when the privacy barrier rolled down and the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent driving the car gave them an easy smile in the rear view mirror. “The tracker’s active, coming through clear. We’ve got a team ready to follow it back to Metzger’s base. Thought you’d want to know.”

“Yeah,” Bruce nodded absently, like the outcome of the mission hadn’t quite occurred to him. “Good. That’s good.”

“Yeah, hey,” Tony agreed hastily. “Really good.” He meant it. That was all he’d wanted out of their little venture. Anything else was… well. Anything else didn’t matter.

The agent gave a final nod and pressed the button to roll up the privacy barrier. When it met the roof of the car, Tony glanced over at Bruce, who had turned toward the window. Tony watched him for a moment anyway before forcing himself to look away. 

He spent most of the ride trying to tamp down the residual arousal from the club, with very little success. Even in the smooth towncar, every pothole and sharp stop reminded him of the exquisite aches that shouldn’t have made his dick throb but did every time anyway. Eventually he gave up on trying to ignore his hard-on away, and started counting the minutes until he’d be alone and could do something about it.

They’d just turned onto 42nd when Bruce finally spoke. 

"You were perfect in there.” Tony felt a sharp surge of pride and pleasure, tight and intense in a way he couldn’t explain. The sensation died almost as quickly as it came, as Bruce continued, his voice under tight control. "Could have fooled anyone."

Right. Whatever Bruce's experiences were, whoever else he'd done this with, what they'd done tonight was nothing but a mission. "You too," he answered, trying to keep bitterness out of his voice.

He reached for the door handle the moment they arrived in the Tower’s garage, but Bruce drew in a quick breath and spoke before he could open it. “I could— If you don’t want to be alone after that, I could… take care of you.” Finishing the sentence seemed to cost him, and for a moment Tony couldn’t parse what he meant. Though his throbbing erection offered a couple of hopeful suggestions.

The silence lasted maybe an instant too long, and Bruce shook his head. “I don’t mean— don’t worry, I’m not trying to take things any further. I know that this was just—“ He stopped again, and when he continued his voice was calm, controlled. “Things got a little intense in there, and I don’t want—“

“Forget it,” Tony cut him off. The truth was that the thought of Bruce watching over him, watching but studiously failing to touch, sounded a hell of a lot worse than the whip had been. What Tony needed was a nice solid fuck, or failing that a few minutes alone with his own hand. What he really didn’t need was Bruce holding his hand or feeding him chicken soup or whatever he considered the appropriate remedy for some really frustratingly curtailed kinky sex.

“OK,” Bruce agreed, seeming to shrink in on himself. Tony stepped out of the car and made it to the waiting elevator in three strides. “JARVIS, penthouse. Now. No stops.”

The doors closed immediately, and Tony felt a little pang of guilt at leaving Bruce to take another one up alone. But the guilt vanished from his mind when he got his fly down and his dick out, and gave himself a couple of good hard strokes.

His head fell back against the wall at the touch, and he didn't even try to wait until he reached his floor. Instead he pushed his pants down to his hips so that he could shove his free hand around and behind, sparking ghosts of the strap against his ass and pressing into his hole, still loose from the plug. He tried to keep it simple, keep his mind on the sensations themselves. But his eyes fluttered shut and he couldn’t help but picture Bruce over him again, touching him, _owning_ him. In his mind's eye, Bruce's face held the vicious, brutal look of desire he'd worn in the club, and this time he meant it. 

Tony's fingers curled around the crown of his cock, working himself over with short strokes as he dipped two fingers into his ass and let himself imagine that they were Bruce's cock instead, driving into him, wanting him, taking him. He came with a strangled little groan, cupping his hand over his cock to catch his release as he shuddered and slumped back. Contact with the wall reawakened the sharp pain of his back and set off another weak pulse of his orgasm.

By the time the doors opened on his floor, he felt loose and shaky and bone tired. He made straight for the shower, shedding his leather get-up as he went. When he stepped in, the hot water lit up his back and made him gasp. His cock gave a pathetic little twitch, far too spent to harden again, but trying anyway just at the sensation, the reminder of what Bruce had done to him.

Tony let out a snort of amusement and leaned against the wall, letting himself enjoy the sensation a little longer as he tried his best to process it, to put the whole night in some simple box in his mind so he could move on and forget about it. 

Bruce had been clear. It had just been for the mission, nothing else. Tony couldn’t ask for more, didn’t even really want to. The whole night had just been a little intense, had gone a little far. He’d gone along with it, made it work, because he had to. His body had just cooperated, that was all.

And if he thought about it in the future, now and then, with his hand tight around his own cock, well, that would be nobody’s business but his own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [notbeloved07](http://archiveofourown.org/users/notbeloved07/pseuds/notbeloved07), for incredibly helpful feedback that set me on a much better path for this fic. I have poked and prodded considerably since, so all problems and errors are very much my own fault.

Tony woke to a haze of half-remembered dreams. He rolled over and allowed himself to doze a little more, lingering in a gentle state of arousal. His hand found his cock and he gave himself a couple of light strokes, enjoying the sensation without really going for more.

He tried to pull together the strands of the dream, to remember what it was that produced this pleasant awakening, so different from the nightmares that usually jolted him out of sleep. He’d been safe, and full, and achingly hard. There had been hands on him, strong hands that knew him intimately and found all the places where he needed them. There’d been a blaze of pleasure—or pain, but somehow in the dream it had felt like pleasure, burning through him as he ached for more. He could still hear the rich laughter, which spoke of deep satisfaction and bottomless desire, both at once. The voice praising him, promising him. Familiar, but different too. Bruce’s voice.

Bruce.

Tony sat bolt upright, skin suddenly clammy as his mind sorted through the connections, distinguished dream from memory and brought into stark clarity everything that had happened the night before. A sick feeling settled in his gut, even as his arousal remained. 

He’d made a fool of himself, desperate for something he had no right to. That he had no reason to even want. He’d never been interested in getting on his knees before, never liked any of those games with cuffs or scarves or blindfolds, and there was no reason one ridiculous mission should have changed that.

Except that he couldn’t deny that just thinking of it left him hard as hell.

He threw off the covers and made for the shower. The water was hot on his back, but he tried to ignore the stinging pain of his skin and the memory of how it got that way. He spent a couple of minutes calling to mind the least sexy visuals he could manage, but when that failed to even slightly dampen his erection he gave up and took himself in hand. He closed his eyes and thought of the last girl he’d fucked—Amber? Ashleigh? He wasn’t sure and didn’t care, because she’d been gorgeous, with legs for miles and tits that didn’t stop, and she’d been hot and wet and fucking perfect around his dick. So it shouldn’t have been hard to keep his focus on her as he stroked himself. But somehow he couldn’t hold her in his mind’s eye, any more than he could block out the insistent memory of Bruce’s voice. _If you're very good, I'm going to fuck you raw when we get home._

Tony came without warning, his cock and balls and the stinging skin of his ass all throbbing in unison as pleasure surged through him. He sagged against the wall of the shower, suddenly relaxed in the wake of his orgasm.

But by the time he made his way down to the lab and knocked back half a cup of coffee, the warm glow had deserted him. He couldn’t help teasing at the idea in his mind, thinking of how it had been, how it had felt, but the memory eluded him. Standing there in his workshop, it all felt impossibly foreign, as though it really had been an odd dream that slipped away as he woke. The thought of asking Bruce for more— Tony gave a tiny snort at the absurdity of the idea. What would he say? _Hey, Bruce, I was hoping you’d tie me up and take a riding crop to my ass_? _Bruce, give me a hand with the particle accelerator, and by the way, please take me hard, Sir_? Ridiculous.

He’d almost convinced himself to put the whole thing out of his mind when the workshop doors slid open and Bruce walked in.

Tony watched him out of the corner of his eye, but forced himself to keep his head down and his attention on the display. Bruce left him to it for a few minutes, lingering hesitantly a little ways in from the door. 

Finally he wandered over, tension in the set of his shoulders even though he was clearly trying to keep his posture casual. “You missed the debrief.”

Tony looked up and snorted. “‘Missed’ implies that I intended to go.”

Bruce smiled a little at that, and turned to poke at a prototype repulsor Tony had left lying on the end of the workbench.

“You went?”

Bruce shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to give S.H.I.E.L.D. the idea that they don’t have to send half an army to get my cooperation.”

Tony thought he saw something else in Bruce’s expression, but he couldn’t pin it down. He gave up and turned back to the display.

Bruce waited a moment longer before speaking into the deliberate silence. “I thought you’d want to know—they got Metzger.”

“Already?” They’d planted the bug a little before midnight, and the time display on the nearest screen read eleven forty-six. 

“Apparently he went straight for his base when he left the club. S.H.I.E.L.D. followed him there and got him with enough contraband for a couple dozen convictions.” Bruce continued to toy with the prototype, but his eyes stayed on Tony, like he was waiting for some kind of reaction.

“Good.” Tony let his satisfaction color his voice. It was easier to think of Metzger behind bars than anything else about the mission.

Bruce nodded and dropped his gaze back to the repulsor, apparently content to examine the wiring until Tony found something more to say.

Tony tried to return to his own work, but the restless itch that had been with him all morning wouldn’t let him do it. “What did you tell them?”

Bruce looked up, eyebrows slightly raised in inquiry.

“ _De_ brief. They must have asked you what happened. What did you tell them?”

“Nothing. There wasn’t anything they needed to know.” He said it simply, as if his answer were obvious. Which, Tony realized with a little surge of gratitude, it probably should have been.

“Okay then. Good.”

Bruce nodded and shifted his attention to one of the displays, where he halfheartedly skimmed over the latest readings on a new sensor system they’d put together a few days back. Tony turned to his own screen and rotated the image this way and that, but found he couldn’t remember what he’d intended to do.

The silence stretched, and Tony had almost managed to regain the thread of his thought when Bruce dropped his hands from the screen and took a step closer to Tony. “How are you?”

Tony forced out a dismissive snort. “Me? I’m peachy. A little sore, but nothing to write home about—your arm’s not that good.”

A flash of something dangerous flitted over Bruce’s features, and Tony’s blood surged in response. But a breath later the expression was gone, replaced by the same solemn care Bruce had worn before. “Sometimes, that kind of experience can leave people unsettled. Or upset. Or…” his simple, matter of fact tone faltered, and he looked away. “Things can get... complicated, and if there’s anything I can—“

“Forget it.”

Bruce gave a slow nod, and Tony watched his throat work as he swallowed. His head turned sharply, and he took a couple of quick steps and then stopped, his back still to Tony. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, and started for the door again.

“Hey, wait, no. Bruce.” 

On hearing his name, Bruce stopped, and this time he turned back. His eyes were clear as he looked up at Tony and waited.

“I don’t know what you think happened, but everything went right in there. For once. I was—“ He shook his head. “No harm done, okay? It just… wasn’t my thing.” His heart hammered and his skin felt too tight as he forced himself to meet Bruce’s eyes. For an instant he felt sure Bruce was going to call him on the baldfaced lie.

But the moment passed, and Bruce just nodded.

Tony drew in a breath and pressed on. “So can we? Forget about it? Because I’m already sick of this conversation.”

Bruce nodded again, something tired and defeated in his face. “Yeah,” he agreed, and waved in the direction of the door. “I should—“

“And anyway,” Tony continued, as if Bruce hadn’t spoken, “I could use a hand on the new casing for the arc reactor.” With a couple of quick motions, he sent the schematics over to the screen nearest Bruce. “Take a look?”

A little of the strain melted away from Bruce’s eyes as he turned his attention to the display. “Yeah,” he said again, a hint of a smile on his lips this time. “Sure.”

 

That should have been it. Tony should have moved the hell on, found somebody cute to screw, or several somebodies, and generally put that ridiculous night at _Cruci_ behind him.

But he woke up every morning rock hard and aching to linger in the lust-drenched pleasure of his dreams. He attended parties and flirted on autopilot, took home men and women and forgot even before he finished fucking them why he’d wanted to in the first place. He worked in the lab with Bruce, trading theories and arguments and trying not to look too closely at Bruce’s strong grip, the muscles of his forearms, the hard, calm certainty that occasionally graced his expression.

He made it three weeks before admitting, to himself at least, that things weren’t going back to normal.

He spent half of the next morning attuned to Bruce’s proximity, somehow enjoying just letting himself want Bruce, without pretending that anything else was going on. He didn’t bother to be particularly subtle about it, and after a couple of hours, Bruce began to look over at him periodically, a question in his eyes, before turning his attention back to his work.

They’d been in the lab for six hours when Tony gave up on keeping his mouth shut.

“Hey,” he kept his voice casual, like he was asking Bruce’s opinion on how the relays were holding up. “You want to fuck me?”

Bruce’s head jerked up, and his breath seemed to catch for an instant before he carefully relaxed his posture. “I’m... not sure what you’re asking.”

“Uh, pretty sure you understand the general mechanics. We can talk specifics, though—positions, timing….”

Bruce ignored that, and looked back down at the mechanism he’d been assembling. “If we’re still pretending that the other night never happened, then that question’s a little out of the blue.” He put the bit of metal down and looked up again. “And if we’re not, then I can’t help but think you’re looking for something more than a quick fuck.”

It wasn’t a no. It was actually pretty far from a no, and something in the way Bruce watched for his answer suffused Tony with a warm certainty that the desire Bruce had displayed at the club hadn’t just been for show.

Tony swallowed, caught in Bruce’s gaze, as if he really couldn’t look away. He wanted to agree—more than agree, he wanted to beg, to drop to his knees right there in the workshop and ask Bruce to give him more of that gorgeous feeling he’d had in the club. But it was that image that stopped him—he wasn’t about to kneel, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to do it in the middle of his labs, where he worked miracles and built machines that nobody else could even dream of. He shook his head. “That’s not going to work for me.”

Bruce nodded easily at that, but watched him anyway, a speculative look in his eyes. “Would you want it to?”

Tony’s chest tightened, and his answer was on his lips before he could bite it back. “Yes.”

Bruce stood and took a couple of steps towards him, his posture erect. Desire painted his face, but something else hung there too—surprise, maybe, or gratitude. “You weren’t acting. In the club. You liked it.”

Tony took a long breath and forced out the truth. “Yeah.” But he couldn’t keep his gaze steady, and his eyes flicked to the concrete floor.

Bruce reached out and cupped Tony’s chin in one hand, drawing it up and letting his thumb run over Tony’s cheek. They stood there like that, barely moving except for the too-hard beat of Tony’s heart.

And then suddenly Bruce snatched his hand back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. You’re right; this isn’t a good idea.”

Something in him ached at the loss of Bruce’s hand, of his gaze on Tony’s face. He coughed, glanced down, and then up again. “Hey, uh, definitely putting words in my mouth there.”

Bruce’s lips parted slightly, watching Tony with a rapt attention that made Tony feel studied, inspected. Known. “I could make it work for you,” he offered softly. “I could— I think you’d enjoy it.”

The promise went straight to Tony’s gut, suffusing him with heat and making his cock twitch. “Yeah,” he managed, “I’m getting that impression. Okay. Do it.”

Bruce swallowed, his eyes dark and hungry for one piercing instant before they turned serious and careful. “We should talk specifics. What you liked, what you didn’t like. What you want me to do. Your limits.”

Tony opened his mouth to answer, but no words came, and he closed it again with an angry little snap. He felt a frustrated energy buzzing over his skin as he thought about it. He wanted… more. He wanted to feel like he had, back at the club. “Can’t you just—“ he gestured vaguely.

Bruce turned away and made a rough sound that should have been laughter but wasn’t quite.  “Oh, no.  We’re not going to—“  He took a few steps towards the far side of the lab and then stopped, shook his head a little, and turned back.  “If we’re going to do this, I need to know what you want out of it.”

“I want— you know what I want. I want you to—“ he stopped, frustrated again. But he couldn’t find the words. Couldn’t sort out what it had been about that night that had taken him apart, and probably couldn’t have made himself say it if he could.  “You obviously have some ideas.  Show me.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because—“ Bruce let out a long breath and turned away. “If I’m not sure what you’re going for, if you can’t tell me— “ He shook his head. “It’s not a good idea.

The defeated finality of his words burrowed under Tony’s skin—an irritant, something he couldn’t have. But more than that, because, contrary to popular opinion, Tony wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with things he couldn’t have. The ache in his chest had nothing in common with the occasional genius who refused to work for SI, or his admittedly ill-advised attempts to bang Natalie Rushman. This was real, and urgent, and no way in hell were taboos or pride or anything short of Bruce’s actual disinterest going to keep him from it. “Fuck it.” He knelt, the motion awkward and unfamiliar, and yeah, especially here, it felt weird as hell. But worth it when the shock on Bruce’s face turned to an almost feral desire. “I want it. What we had in the club— all that, that was good. Probably other stuff too, I don’t know, you’re the expert. I’m not shitting you about my limits—I don’t know what they are, I didn’t know I wanted any of this until you showed me. Give me a chance to figure it out.”

Bruce didn’t respond right away, watching him with a careful calm that reminded Tony of the moments when Bruce tried to forestall an appearance by the Other Guy. Unlike those times, though, Tony could see the clear evidence of Bruce’s desire straining against his pants. Whatever the reason for Bruce’s hesitance, it wasn’t disinterest.

“Please, Bruce.”

Bruce moved suddenly, reaching down to tug at his shoulder. “Get up.”

Tony scrambled to his feet, unable to meet Bruce’s gaze. “Hey, fine, no hard—“

“That wasn’t a no.” 

Tony did look up then, and felt his whole body go hot at the look on Bruce’s face. 

Bruce had him fixed with a calculating stare, like he was even now deciding what he wanted to do to Tony. “You have no idea how much I want… this. But not here. If you’re still interested tomorrow, we’ll need to talk first. Safewords and rules at a minimum.”

“Can’t we—“

Bruce shook his head. “Really no.  Give it a day.  Come to my apartment tomorrow night if you haven’t changed your mind.”

Tony took a couple of unsteady steps toward his workbench before looking back at Bruce.  “Seven good?”

Bruce blinked.

“Tomorrow.  Is seven good?”

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Bruce’s lips.  “Yeah.  Seven’s good.”

 

When seven finally came, after a day spent pretending not to watch the clock, Tony dawdled by the elevator, forcing himself to wait the extra minutes that somehow seemed important. As willing as he’d laid out his interest the day before, he suddenly felt disinclined to come off as desperate.

When he arrived at Bruce’s apartment—a careful three and a half minutes late—he found Bruce ensconced in a comfortable chair, two steaming mugs on the table beside him. His clothes were more or less the same as usual, except that for once the shirt actually fit him, and the pants looked no more than one or two sizes too big. He might even have seemed calm if it weren’t for the way his thumb rubbed up and down against the handle of his mug. But somehow the little tic didn’t take away from the the gentle authority in the set of his shoulders.

Tony tamped down his arousal, and stalked over over to sniff at the steam. “You made tea?”

“I made tea.” He held his mug up, tipping it briefly in Tony’s direction before taking a sip.

“Is that some kind of—“

“It’s just tea. Sit down. Like I said, we need to talk.”

Tony sank into the chair Bruce indicated, letting one leg sprawl over the side. “OK. Talk.”

Bruce hesitated. “I don’t know how much you know about any of this.”

Tony shrugged. "Well, I do know how to use the internet, so….” The truth was, he'd spent about fifteen minutes looking at cheesy porn and touchy feely descriptions of kinky sex etiquette before deciding that none of it was what he wanted and giving up. He picked up his mug, took a sip that he didn’t taste, and looked away. "Not all that much." He glanced back, to find Bruce watching him with soft eyes. "Can't we just do what we did in the club, just—“ he gestured vaguely, "more?"

Bruce nodded slowly and took a sip of his tea. “We can do that. Once we've established what you're going to be okay with."

"Can't you just go for it? I'll let you know if it isn't working for me. For the record, in the club, it was working for me."

One corner of Bruce’s lips twitched in a quickly-suppressed smile. “That's sort of the problem. In the club—“ He started to reach out, but apparently thought better of it. "You relaxed. You... trusted me." 

Something about the way Bruce said it made it sound less silly than it should have, and Tony couldn't help but think back on that feeling, the way he'd _known_ that anything Bruce did could only feel good. He shifted on the chair, sitting with his legs together to keep his hardening cock from becoming too obscenely apparent. “Yeah."

"The way you felt, it's called subspace, and if you get there again— Tony, the way you were in the club, I think you would have agreed to just about anything I wanted."

Yeah, not wrong about that. The way he said it, Tony wasn't sure he'd say no to anything Bruce wanted now. But Bruce obviously meant it as a warning, so Tony almost managed to sound serious when he answered. "And what did you want?"

Bruce gave a short laugh, and his eyes darted up and away before returning to settle on Tony's face. "Fair question." He took a breath. "I wanted...." He let the breath out. "A lot of things.” He met Tony’s eyes, and spoke calmly, like he was making a list. “To fuck you—“

"Really on board with that one."

Bruce looked faintly pleased, but continued as if Tony hadn’t spoken. "I wanted to make you suck me off. I wanted to keep going, with the plug and the strap, and watch you come."

“Also good with all of that, for the record."

“And—“ Bruce paused again, “I wanted to draw it out. I wanted to hear you beg. I wanted to hurt you, Tony, more than— more than I did.” 

Bruce’s eyes held his gaze, steadily, as if he were making a confession. Tony couldn’t look away. Arousal pulsed through him, and he had to swallow around the sudden dryness of his throat before he could speak. “Yes.”

Bruce shifted forward, alert, like he was watching for Tony’s reaction as he continued. “The whip?”

Tony remembered the heat of it, the blaze of pain across his back. He gave a sharp nod, sure that the desire in his eyes made his answer clear.

“Floggers? The strap?”

Tony just nodded again, struggling to think of anything but the thick desire pooling low in his belly.

“Ropes, cuffs?” 

“Yeah.” The word came out before he considered it, and with it a hot flush. Being tied up for Bruce to do whatever he was going to do…. “Those— yeah.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, and his voice turned harder. “Gags? Knives? Humiliation?”

Tony’s lips parted, but closed again. He didn’t have an answer, didn’t feel at all sure whether any of that might work for him, didn’t even know for sure what Bruce meant, but somehow, in that tone, it didn’t sound bad.

“Bloodplay? Scat? Tell me there’s something you’re going to say no to.”

“Uh, yeah, no to those. Not a big fan of bodily fluids, I think.”

“Okay.” Bruce leaned back into his chair, and Tony only then realized how close they’d been. He seemed to consider for a moment. “Kneeling for me? Obeying me?”

Tony shifted back, surprised by the question. “Kinda thought that was the point of the exercise.”

“It doesn’t have to be. All the other stuff— we can do any of that without the Dom-sub element.”

“Right, well.” The stab of disappointment didn’t make any sense at all, and Tony tried to ignore it. He cast around for something to say, but as reluctant as he was to admit that, yeah, Bruce's orders—Bruce’s control—were very much the draw, he couldn't deny it either.  "I'm good with the orders thing.” The words came out in a rush, as if his lips wanted to get them out before his brain could stop them. He felt a squirming discomfort with the admission, but the sensation evaporated at the dark satisfaction in Bruce's answer.

"Good."  

He held Tony's gaze for a moment, and Tony felt his cock strain against his jeans. "Yeah, good, right. So, are we good to go?  Because—“  Because Tony was starting to get the feeling that if they didn't get started soon, he was going to embarrass himself like he hadn't since he was a fucking teenager.

Bruce didn’t move, but his stillness looked somehow brittle—like even his well-practiced self-restraint was barely enough to keep him from grabbing Tony and doing everything they’d both admitted to wanting. But when he did move, it was with a regretful shake of his head. “Tomorrow.”

Tony’s lips parted, ready to argue, but the calm command in Bruce’s voice stopped him.

“I need you to decide when—“ He made a vague gesture.

Tony drew in a breath, cool against the warm haze of his arousal, and let it out in a rueful little laugh. “When I’m not so turned on I can barely breathe?”

“Yeah,” Bruce agreed, his eyes not leaving Tony’s face. “Something like that. Anyway, we’re not done.”

“Okay, but at some point really soon I’m going to have to get laid or go take care of some things on my own.”

Bruce pressed his lips together, and his eyes narrowed briefly before he let his posture relax, a little. “I don’t want to—“ He huffed out what sounded like a laugh and shook his head. “I don’t think we should try a scene tonight. But…” his eyes fixed on Tony, full of desire, “I could take the edge off.”

The implications of that sunk in, and Tony’s cock twitched and strained in answer. “Yeah, that— that sounds like a plan.”

Bruce rose to his feet, and Tony felt a whole new surge of need at the set of his shoulders as he took the one step needed to close the difference between them. 

For a heartbeat, Tony waited, looking up at Bruce and feeling the anticipation shiver over his skin, wondering what exactly Bruce meant, what the rules were, and whether he was going to be able to keep it together to avoid embarrassing himself at the first touch of whatever Bruce planned to offer.

And then Bruce's knees folded and he slid gracefully to the floor.

Tony's breath caught, and time seemed to slow as Bruce reached forward to lay one hand on Tony's thigh, the thumb brushing lightly against the inside of Tony's leg, just above the knee. "Wha—?”

"I was thinking of blowing you, if that's all right." By the little quirk of his lips—lips that Tony suddenly realized he had in no way properly appreciated before—Bruce found Tony's reaction amusing. "Simple, reasonably unlikely to get confusing."

Tony swallowed and tried not to point out the total failure of the plan on the latter count, because he sure as hell didn't intend to make any kind of objection. But something about Bruce on his knees left Tony's mouth dry and his brain as close to blank as it had ever been. 

"Unless you'd rather..." Bruce trailed off with an amiable tilt of his head that Tony might have taken as an invitation for any number of activities, except that he definitely wasn't ready to shift focus from the current one.

"No, I'm good with— I just, uh, didn't realize you..." he gestured at Bruce, unable to quite say what it was that was so unexpected. “Knelt," he finished weakly.

Bruce's eyebrows jerked toward his hairline before he schooled his face into something calm, almost scholarly. "Okay, well, two things. If you mean do I sub, the answer's yes, though not that often, and not since— well, let's just say I'd have a lot more hard limits now than the last time I did."

Tony took that in, his cock's protest at the delay insignificant against the image of Bruce in the place of some of the subs from that night at Cruci.  The way he'd moved at the time, so profoundly in control, Tony hadn't even considered the idea of him on the other side.  But he could picture it now, Bruce collared and on his knees, graceful and quiet, submitting with that bone-deep dignity that clung to him regardless of circumstances. It made Tony’s breath catch, but it also relaxed him, for some reason he couldn't quite name.

Bruce, still on his knees, fingers still inches away from Tony's straining erection, watched him with careful eyes, giving him time to think it over before continuing. "And two, this isn't a scene, it's a blowjob." Bruce's hand slid upward, his thumb pressing a little harder until it was everything Tony could do not to squirm down toward him. “So are you okay with—?”

"'Okay' is really failing to cover how good I am with this concept," Tony babbled, reaching for his belt to get it out of the way as quickly as humanly possible. Bruce's hands overtook his, pulling down the zipper before Tony could manage, and sliding in to draw his cock out.

The touch of Bruce's fingers against his erection made Tony's breath hitch, and he couldn't stop a little thrust of his hips. 

Bruce's hand closed around Tony's cock in one long, slow stroke, and Tony privately considered it an accomplishment that he hadn't stopped breathing altogether. The touch overwhelmed him, tight and firm, and while maybe realistically it wasn't that different from any number of other hand jobs he'd received in his life, in that moment it felt like more. His dick throbbed as Bruce's fist pulled up to cover the glans, the pressure just the right side of painful, and so good that Tony couldn't hold back a reverent curse. "Yeah, that is— fuck, Bruce, good hands, you have got some good hands."

Bruce chuckled a little at that, and when his fist began to descend, his lips went with it, sealing themselves around the head of Tony's cock and following down, until Tony could feel himself slide into the tight pressure of Bruce's throat.

Tony's head fell back and one of his hands found its way into the tangle of Bruce's hair, where it rested gently, not daring to pull him forward and not for an instant thinking of pushing him back and off. But even so, Tony quickly found his wrist encircled by Bruce's fingers and guided down to his side. Bruce released his cock to do the same to Tony’s other hand, clasping his wrists gently, more a suggestion than a command.

Either way, Tony had zero problem going with it, because Bruce was making up for the loss of his firm grip by bending further, sucking and swallowing until Tony shuddered and felt his balls draw up. He could hear his own voice, high and desperate, but he had no more control over it than if it were someone else's altogether. "Close. So close, Bruce, please."

Bruce drew away, and Tony couldn't keep back a groan as the hot suction lessened enough to deny him his climax. The next few strokes teased him, Bruce’s lips trailing over the skin, hot and soft and nothing like what he needed. His hips moved unbidden, searching for friction, but Bruce moved with them, keeping the touch too gentle, the pace too slow. Tony let out what definitely was not a whine as he adjusted to the new rhythm and felt his impending orgasm slowly ebb away.

The light tease continued, soft enough that Tony managed to recover himself and silence the noises of protest that had come unbidden from his throat. The wet drag of Bruce’s mouth stayed loose, far from enough, but as it continued, Tony could feel rich tension building inside him, achingly, agonizingly slowly, until he trembled. It was like a deep, hot well of want had opened, consuming him from the inside out under Bruce’s careful direction. 

Tony had been on the receiving end of blow jobs before—good ones, award-fucking-winning oral sex—but he’d never felt so at the mercy of somebody sucking his cock, never felt this deep tension that he couldn’t resolve or escape.

“Bruce.” The way he said the name, he couldn’t pretend that it was anything but begging, though he couldn’t have said what he was begging for.

Apparently Bruce knew, though, because his lips tightened around Tony’s dick, suddenly sucking with _intent_ , and Tony felt his world dissolve around the insistent suction, drawing him in so deep, demanding that he give himself up to it. So he did—like he had any choice—and felt his whole body throb, his orgasm surging through every cell of his body, rushing down his spine and up from his toes. Bruce didn't let up, sucking him through it, until all his muscles relaxed at once and he slouched back in the chair.

By the time he got his eyes open and functioning, Bruce was rising to his feet, one thumb running over the corner of his mouth in a gesture so impossibly casual that Tony’s mind blanked again.

“Edge off?” Bruce asked, amusement all over his face again, and maybe Tony should have been indignant about the way Bruce watched him, like he was new and inexperienced and ridiculously innocent—none of which remotely applied—but he felt too wrung-out from his orgasm to muster up the energy. His eyes followed Bruce’s hand as he reached down to adjust himself and sat back into his chair. 

Tony started to follow, eager to return the favor. But Bruce stopped him with a gesture, and a gentle question.

“Can we talk about a safeword now?”

Tony took a breath and forced himself to sit back. Much as he’d have liked to get his hands on Bruce, he was almost as eager to check off whatever boxes Bruce needed to get through before they could go further. “Right, sure. Still red?”

“Colors are good for check-ins, but I’d prefer to a safe word that’s little less likely to come up. Red can be..." his eyes flicked away briefly, "descriptive."

Tony felt a hot flush and an improbably early stirring of interest from his cock as he realized what Bruce meant, and remembered the feel of the whip against his skin, the way Bruce had caressed the spots that surely had been flushed with color. "Sure, whatever. I am really good with anything you want to use."

"Cantaloupe? Reasonably unlikely to come up."

"Fine, good. Cantaloupe it is.” Tony did his best to keep still in his seat, to keep his posture relaxed. "Anything else, or can we—?”

"Tomorrow. We can do this properly tomorrow. If you still want to.”

Tony ignored that last piece of idiocy. “Right, I got that. But..." He shifted to his feet, lazily, like he wasn't itching to get his hands on Bruce's body. He moved to lean against one arm of the chair, his knee brushing against Bruce's. ""Right now I was hoping I could return the favor."

Bruce tensed. "We— I need to at least try to keep things clear, for the moment."

"I wanna blow you. Clear enough?"

"What I mean is, if you get on your knees right now, I'm not sure we're going to be able to keep this from becoming— more than it should be. Tonight.”

Tony let his knee nudge forward to rest on the seat cushion, next to Bruce's thigh. "And you think we need to wait until tomorrow because tonight you've bewitched me with your sexy ways, and I'm incapable of saying no."

Bruce had the grace to look embarrassed. "Not exactly. But— given how all this started..." his eyes flicked up, a sorrow to them that made Tony's stomach twist. “I have to be sure it's what you want. Please."

The request felt exquisitely, painfully personal, and for an instant Tony thought of backing away, agreeing to leave everything until tomorrow and just hope that Bruce didn't come up with some new objection in the interim. But then Tony's knee brushed against Bruce's leg, and Bruce's hips gave an involuntary little thrust that Tony couldn't help but take as an invitation.

"No reason this should get confusing." Tony brought his other leg up to kneel over Bruce's lap. He looked down at Bruce's darkening eyes as he let one thumb run over the bulge in Bruce's pants. "How about just like this? Tell me you don't want to get off right now."

Bruce let out a breath that was almost a protest and almost a moan. He caught Tony's wrist, but didn't move it away, and Tony kept his thumb moving, stroking up and down Bruce's length.

"You know," breathy arousal undercut Bruce's wry tone, "people say self control's like a muscle. You use it enough, it builds up over time."

"Okay," Tony agreed easily, only sort of listening as he shifted his hand, still in Bruce's grip, to undo the button at Bruce's fly and draw down the zipper.

"And some people assume that means that my control is very, very good."

Tony kept his eyes locked onto Bruce's, and watched him register the first touch of Tony's hand against the skin of Bruce's cock. Bruce faltered in his strange little monologue, and Tony couldn't help but smirk as he began to work Bruce's cock in earnest. "You were saying?"

Bruce made a strangled sort of sound, but after a couple of strokes he started talking again. "The analogy's a good one. But it's missing one—fuck, just like that—” Bruce's hand hadn't moved from Tony's wrist, and it tightened as Tony's fingers twisted a little over the head of Bruce's cock. 

Tony kept at it, and for a moment he thought Bruce had given up on whatever he was trying to say, but as they found a rhythm Bruce continued. "It's missing one thing. Muscles get tired. And my control—Tony, I'm using it every minute." Bruce's hand moved to cover Tony's, starting to guide the strokes up and down his dick. "So I can promise I'll respect your safeword, and I can tell you that when we're doing this, I can control the other guy, keep you safe." His tone stayed remarkably even, like he really was perfectly in control, but there was a strain under his words that said that he was close already. "But everything you're offering—“ 

Tony felt Bruce's free hand brush over his back and up, sliding to the nape of his neck as if to hold his head in place. As though Tony were going anywhere with his hand wrapped around Bruce's cock, jerking him off under Bruce's firm direction.

"It's why I… need to do this right. Because I want to take you apart.  I want to find out where the lines are for you, how much pain you can enjoy, how much pleasure you can take.  How long I can keep you there, right at the edge.  I want to fuck you and hurt you and take you every way I can think of.” Bruce’s fingers slid through Tony’s hair and tightened as their fists moved in tandem over Bruce’s cock. “I need to know that you’ll stop me if you need to, because if you don’t— I’ll take everything.”

Tony could barely breathe, all his attention on the dark hunger in Bruce’s eyes. Every nerve in his body strained toward it, desperate to open himself up for Bruce to do with as he pleased. “Yes. Yes, Bruce.”

Bruce's hand clenched around Tony's, around his own dick, pumping himself hard for one more stroke, and then he was coming in a hot spurt that streaked Tony's shirt, his cheek, his lips. They froze there as Bruce caught his breath, until he finally released Tony's hand, and brought his own up to Tony's face, gathering a little of the come on one finger and bringing it to Tony's mouth.

Tony sucked, his eyes still caught by Bruce's fierce gaze, and didn't look away even when Bruce moved under him, shifting them both to their feet.

Bruce pulled his hand away and brought it down to the streaks on Tony's shirt, as if he meant to do something about them, but couldn't think what. "Sorry." He didn't sound it.

Tony laughed, a short little burst made more of nervous energy than of humor. He swallowed, and tried to ignore his cock, which had taken a refreshed interest in the proceedings. "Tomorrow?"

A smile, rich and predatory, spread across Bruce's lips. "Tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I am so sorry for the completely ridiculous delay.

Tony's cock was already hard when he stepped into the elevator—had been off and on since morning.  He'd expected the day to be lost to anything resembling productivity, but actually ended up going through a stack of paperwork tall enough to make Pepper happy, if only because it was the only way he could keep himself from jerking off.

Which he hadn't, not even in the shower that morning, because even though Bruce hadn't told him not to, even though Bruce hadn't given any indication at all that he wanted to be in charge of Tony's time like that, he wanted to do this right.  Wanted to show Bruce that he could.  Wanted to be everything that Bruce was looking for.

So he'd abandoned any pretense of dignity and gotten himself to the elevator early, arriving on Bruce's floor a full five minutes before he'd said he would, wearing an undershirt and jeans that didn't even try to hide his erection.

In spite of the time, Bruce was waiting when Tony stepped out of the elevator.

Tony heard the door close behind him as he stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  He felt his stomach twist under Bruce's gaze, his nerves tight, as if this were going to be a fight and not just getting both of them laid.

Bruce took two deliberate steps towards him, and Tony swallowed.  Okay, admittedly this was shaping up to be a little more than getting laid.

"You’re sure you want to do this?"  The question might have seemed harsh—confrontational, even—but the tone was soft.

“I’m sure, Banner.  Or—am I supposed to call you ‘sir’ now?”

“You can, if you want.”

Tony hesitated.  He remembered the word on his lips in the club—it had felt awkward at first, artificial, but he couldn’t deny that it had stirred something in his blood. He glanced away, not quite willing to admit that yeah, he wanted.

“’Sir’ it is.” Tony didn’t think he was imagining the rough arousal in Bruce’s voice.  “You remember your safeword?”

“Yeah.”

Bruce took another step towards him, and the two of them were more or less of a height, but something in Bruce’s manner made him seem taller.  “Say it.”

“Cantaloupe.”

“Or?”

“Red.”

“And if you don’t like where it’s going?”

Tony glanced way, as if he could evade the calm command of Bruce’s attention.  “Yellow.”

“And what are you at now?”

“Impatient.”

Bruce didn’t answer—just stared him down until he couldn’t help but speak again.

“Green.  I’m good to go.”

“Then strip.”  He turned on one heel and paced away, pointedly failing to watch as Tony pulled his shirt over his head.  “If we do this again, I’ll expect you naked by the time you get off the elevator.”

Tony’s hands dropped to his belt, where he paused, not quite ready to strip himself bare.  Which was hilarious, really, considering the number of times he’d done it, the number of people he’d screwed.  Though, to be fair, none of them had ever walked away like that, like they took for granted that Tony was going to do as they asked.  Like Tony’s body was, more or less, theirs for the taking.

A hot thrill of lust ran along his skin, and he jerked the belt buckle open and dropped his pants and boxers in one quick motion.

Bruce turned back and looked him over, the casual set of his jaw not quite hiding the way his eyes darkened.  Tony stood there, under Bruce's gaze, and found himself shivering slightly.  Bruce took a couple of deliberate steps, bringing him close enough to touch, and reached out with one hand.  His fingers brushed against Tony's stomach, and moved up, trailing over his chest, along his throat, to cup his cheek.  "Perfect," he murmured.  "Don't move."

He drew his hand away and stepped behind Tony, just out of his line of sight.

Tony kept his face forward, though not moving became more of a challenge when Bruce's fingers slid down over his ass, between his legs, and up to cup his balls.  The soft touch produced a little sound of want that Tony didn't bother trying to hold back.  Bruce's fingers closed and tugged, just a little, but enough that Tony’s breath hitched.  He still didn't move, and Bruce hummed against his ear.  "You are so good.  This is going to be so good."

Between the oddly affectionate words and the fingers that continued to brush over his testicles, Tony found himself desperate for more, his blood racing with the need for Bruce to take him.  "Please," he murmured.

Sharp pain bloomed on the inside of his thigh, and Tony gasped as he realized that Bruce had pinched him there.  He'd have liked to be indignant, but then Bruce did it again and Tony's eyes fluttered shut, barely able to think of anything but the sensation.

"Please what?" Bruce demanded, pinching again, and if Bruce thought that was going to be a deterrent he'd seriously misunderstood Tony's reaction.

Still, the game was the game, and Tony was more than willing to play along.  "Please, Sir.”

"Good."  

And then pain shot through him again, sharper than before, and he gasped and arched back.  Bruce's other hand closed around his cock and gave a couple of quick strokes as Tony full-out moaned with the pleasure.

"Yes, fuck.  Please, Sir.  More."

But instead Bruce released him and shifted away, leaving him gasping in ragged breaths and trying to figure out how Bruce had reduced him to trembling and begging in about half a minute.  

His eyes opened again to find Bruce watching him, satisfaction all over his face.  “We’ll keep things simple tonight.  Go into my bedroom and kneel on the bed, facing the headboard.  I need to get a few things, but while you’re waiting, I want you to decide whether you want me to tie you to the bed.”

Tony swallowed, his mouth suddenly a little dry.  The question felt like a trick—asked without giving him the information he’d need to make any kind of choice.  Which might have been the point, he supposed.

“I will be easier, for you,” one of Bruce’s fingers trailed down Tony’s chest, pulling away when Tony’s hips jerked in anticipation, “if you’re bound.”  

Yeah.  Okay.  Still kind of mysterious, but it was a little more to go on.  Bruce’s eyes stayed on him, assessing, as though he were trying to guess what Tony would choose.  

Something in his gaze sent a little stab of lust through Tony’s gut.  “You’d like it better if I’m not.”

Bruce’s eyes seemed to lose focus for an instant, and then he chuckled.  “Yes,” he agreed.  “But tonight you get to pick.  Now go.”

Tony went, feeling only a little bit ridiculous making his way through Bruce’s apartment naked and alone on Bruce’s order.  He got as far as the bedroom doorway and froze.  The room looked ordinary.  Bed, dressers, closets, settee, all the way they’d been when Bruce moved in, Tony guessed.  He hadn’t realized at the time that he’d be taking so active an interest in Bruce’s bedroom.

He stepped in, unusually aware of the silent give of the carpet underfoot.  He reached the bed and paused again, glancing over his shoulder.  He couldn’t hear Bruce, couldn’t guess what he was doing or how long he’d be.  

Doing what he was told had been easy enough when Bruce was right there, but now, in this silent room, it felt almost silly.

Then again, so did standing there naked, waiting for Bruce to show up.  He laughed a little to himself and crawled onto the bed, shifting to kneel upright.  In that position he couldn’t see the door, or anything that indicated the time.  He could ask JARVIS whatever he wanted, of course, but there was nothing he specifically wanted to know.  Except what Bruce was about to do to him, and he suspected that even JARVIS wouldn’t be able to extrapolate that much.

Time stretched, long enough for Tony to grow impatient as his mind reviewed Bruce’s instructions.  Kneel on he bed and decide if he wanted to be restrained.  He could imagine it—arms and legs outstretched, tied and at Bruce’s mercy.  Not that he wasn’t, somehow, at Bruce’s mercy either way, and Tony didn’t exactly understand what it was that made Bruce’s orders so compelling, but he wasn’t about to argue with it.  And that, probably, was why Tony didn’t have to think hard about his answer.  Bruce preferred him to do this on his orders alone, and Tony couldn’t help but want to be whatever Bruce wanted.

Tony heard a soft rustle that had to be Bruce’s steps.  He made no other noise, and for a moment Tony thought he might have imagined even that much.  But somehow he could feel in his skin that Bruce was there, watching with hungry eyes.  

The idea of it made Tony’s cock jerk, and he felt almost ready to beg Bruce for more.  But not quite.   Instead he let one hand drift to his erection and circled his cock with loose fingers.  He had a feeling that that was the sort of thing Bruce would object to, but if it made Bruce declare himself and get started, it would be well worth anything Bruce might decide to do about it.  

From behind him, he heard a breathy chuckle.  “Well, I didn’t tell you not to touch yourself,” he admitted, his voice rich with humor and desire.  

“No, Sir, you didn’t,” Tony told him, his voice almost—okay, no almost—mocking the formality.

“I’m telling you now.”

Tony released himself and held both hands in the air in surrender, still facing forward.

“Good.”

Tony felt the bed move as Bruce leaned against it, and then his hand closed around Tony’s cock, stroking him roughly until his head fell back in pleasure.  He let out a disappointed whine when Bruce released him.  

“You are hard to resist,” Bruce murmured.  Tony could hear him draw in a breath before continuing in a firmer tone.  “Have you made up your mind?”

It took Tony an instant to remember what Bruce meant, which was apparently an instant too long, because Bruce’s fingers laced in his hair and tightened just enough to produce a little shock of pain.  

“Yes, Sir.”  The formal address came a little easier, but it still felt artificial on his lips.

“And?”

“When have I ever taken the easy option?”

Bruce hummed satisfaction against Tony’s ear.  “You want to submit to me without the restraints.”

He’d never have said it that way, but his whole body flushed hot in agreement.  He managed to choke out a “yes, Sir.”

Bruce made a low sound, almost a groan, at that.  “Good.  You are… perfect.”  Tony didn’t know what to do with the sincerity in his voice, but Bruce didn’t give him time anyway.  “Now bend over, hands on the headboard.  Keep your knees where they are.”

Tony did it, letting his chest fall against the mattress and grabbing the slats of the bed.  It left his ass in the air, a position that should have been humiliating and almost was.

This time Bruce didn't make him wait long—Tony felt the soft heat of his palm run over his ass, down his thigh, and back up again.  "We're going to start with something easy."

Bruce's hand disappeared, and his weight shifted on the bed.  An instant later heat bloomed on the cheek of Tony's ass, first one side and then the other.  The pain wasn't intense—was barely pain.  Bruce gave him a few more slaps, and Tony let out a little moan and wiggled his ass in the air, letting the teasing gesture act as invitation.

Bruce gave a little snort.  "Not quite enough for you, is it?"

Tony swallowed.  The question twisted through his stomach, insulting and threatening at once, and Tony felt his blood race in answer.  No.  It wasn’t enough.  But he had no doubt that whatever Bruce had planned would be.

The next blow shouldn't have startled him, but did anyway.  He jerked as if to move away from the pain, but his grip stayed tight around the headboard.  The effort to remain still temporarily distracted him from the sensation itself, but on the second strike he felt it—a sharp spike of heat and need spreading from his skin inward.

"That's better, isn't?"

"Yes, Sir,” he managed.  He could hear the desire in Bruce’s throaty little chuckle, but barely had time to register it before Bruce began again.  Tony’s world narrowed to the harsh sting at his ass and the power behind the blows, hard enough that he had to push back against them to stay in position.

It shouldn't have been enough to capture his full attention—nothing more than basic physics, force and reaction—but somehow it filled his mind, replaced everything else until he could think of nothing but the power of Bruce’s arm.

“That’s right,” Bruce urged, “just relax and take this for me.”

It didn’t feel possible that he could do anything else.  A hot, deep need suffused him, a desire that went all the way down to his bones without leaving him frantic for more.  Maybe because what he wanted, even beyond the pain and the pleasure, was the dark satisfaction in Bruce’s voice.

He had no idea how long Bruce kept up his harsh, perfect rhythm, but when he stopped, Tony could still feel its echo, blazing over his skin and making him ache for more.

Bruce's thumb slid over his ass, leaving a trail of sharper pain.  "Gorgeous.  Color?"

"Green."  Tony let the his tone beg, just a little.

"More?"  The question was obviously intended more to tease him than to ask his opinion, but Tony answered anyway.

"Fuck, yes, Sir.  Please."

Tony felt the bed shift under him again, and then Bruce's hand slid over his cheek, turning his head.

Bruce's lips curved in a knowing smile, and he held in his hand a short band of stiff leather.  “You remember this?  From the club?"

He did.  Remembered the bite of leather and the deep pleasure invading him with every stroke.  "Yes.  Yes, Sir.”

Bruce chuckled.  "I guess I don't have to ask if you liked it."

Tony shook his head.

"Good.  I want you to spread yourself for me."

Tony blinked, his fingers still clutching the headboard as he tried to picture what Bruce wanted from him.  His forearms on the bed were all that kept his face from the mattress, and if he moved his hands back...

The strap fell on Tony’s thigh, the sharp shock of pain jolting him out of his thoughts.

“I’m waiting."  Bruce’s voice was all calm command, but the threat underneath it sent a shudder of need running through Tony’s body.

He sucked in a breath and let his shoulders fall on the mattress, his neck turned to one side to keep his face clear.  He reached around with both hands, grabbing the sides of his own ass and holding his cheeks apart, baring himself obscenely.

Bruce's hand trailed over his ass, rubbing and grasping as though reminding them both of everything he could do.  "You are the hottest thing I have every seen."

It was more an observation than a complement, made more to himself than to Tony. But even so, the words rang in his ears and made his cock jump. The hottest _thing_. The wording casually cruel, and all the more intoxicating for it.

Bruce's hands slid between Tony's thighs, and nudged outward.  "Further."

Tony did it, spreading his legs as far as they could go, contorting himself into what had to be the most submissive posture he was physically capable of.  It should have felt wrong, but it made his skin heat and his chest tighten in anticipation.

Bruce continued to stroke the inside of Tony's thighs, every so often brushing up against Tony's balls and making him shiver.  "Good.  So good."  He withdrew his hand.  "I'm not going to give you the plug, this time," he warned, "but you're going to like it anyway."

Tony barely had time to consider what that implied before he felt the strap fall on the skin between his cheeks—not on his opening, but so near it that he gasped in surprise.  Bruce didn't stop, landing sharp little blows in places where Tony had rarely even been touched.  They lanced through him, perfect and tight, setting off sparks of pain everywhere but the little circle of nerves and muscle that suddenly ached for any kind of touch, even this one.  He arched his back and gripped himself harder, trying to somehow be more open still.  "Please, Sir.”

The blows stopped, and Tony felt Bruce’s fingers between his legs, tracing a line up from his inner thigh, teasing a little at his balls before ghosting over the sore spots left by the strap.  Tony strained into it, desperate for Bruce’s hands on him, in him.

"You want more?"  

Tony couldn't mistake the thick desire in Bruce's voice, but he wouldn't have expected the hint of surprise. "Yes.  Please."

Bruce's hand tightened on Tony's thigh for an instant, and moved away.  Tony waited, all his nerves sharp, his cock straining against his stomach and his fingers gripping himself tight enough to refresh the stinging pain on his skin.  Bruce let him wait long enough that Tony had begun to wonder why, but when the strap finally fell again, it pushed any such thoughts out of his mind.

It had been hot and harsh before, but this time it was harder, the pain piercing and fierce.  It came again, and again, deeper with each blow.  His face rubbed against the sheets every time, as his body rocked forward and shifted back to meet the strap.

Bruce moved lower, laying stripes of fire along the inside of his thigh.  The breeze of it ghosted over his balls, and a shudder of fear ran through him, hot and heady like whiskey in his veins.

Every strike of the strap felt harder than the one before, and Tony could feel himself start to tremble.  The burning pain grew sharp and stinging until Tony wondered if he'd broken the skin.  Maybe the idea should have worried him, but all he felt was good, all he could think to do was clench his fingers to keep himself spread wide for Bruce.

It was a shock when the blows stopped, the strap replaced by light fingers sliding over the flushed skin.  But fierce need quickly overtook surprise, and Tony could hear a whining noise in his throat as Bruce's touch neared his balls, and then drew up to slide over his entrance.

The touch at that tight ring of muscle brought all of Tony's desire flooding back, and in that moment he felt as though he'd give anything—his fortune, his suits, his dignity—to have Bruce inside him, fucking him exactly the way he needed.  "Please," he begged.  "Fuck, Sir, I need it."

"I know what you need." It felt like a promise, or a threat.

But instead of slipping inside, Bruce's fingers disappeared, and Tony whined again and tried to pull himself further open.

Bruce chuckled, the sound rich with desire.  "Patience," he chided.  But apparently Tony didn't need much, because Bruce's fingers returned, slick now.  One slipped in, sliding deep and fucking in and out for a few blissful strokes before Tony’s body adjusted and recognized that it wasn't half of enough.

"More."

"No."

Tony blinked, shocked by the calm denial.

Bruce's finger slipped out and he shifted forward, leaning over until Tony could feel Bruce's breath in his ear. “That’s not how this works.  I decide what you get.  If I want you to like it, you will.  If I want you so desperate to be fucked that you'll beg and moan, you will.  And if I want you to come on just one of my fingers inside you, you’ll do that too.”

Bruce moved just enough to slide in again, still one finger, still not enough.  Until his thumbnail dug hard into one of the welts, and Tony tensed with the pain and suddenly felt the friction of that one finger like he was being fucked open by somebody hung like a goddamned horse.  Each stroke dragged over something inside Tony that made everything else dissolve, even as the rough pain kept his nerves drawn tight.  

Pleasure invaded him, filled him, tore him open.  It was too much, too fast, and Tony's face burned with humiliation even as his balls turned themselves inside out, streaking his come over his stomach and chest and the sheets.

Bruce hummed his satisfaction as Tony drew gasping, desperate breaths and tried to recover himself.  The shuddering remnants of his pleasure had barely subsided before his skin began to prickle at the way Bruce's finger continued to work inside him, slower but steady, without giving any indication that he planned to stop any time soon.  

Tony's muscles had barely had time to relax before they began to tense again under the strokes.  His fingers dropped away from the cheeks of his ass, stiff after holding so tight for so long, and he let out a sound with his next breath, not quite an objection, but close enough that he knew Bruce would hear it.

Bruce didn't stop.  His other hand rubbed over the cheek of Tony's ass, the gesture somehow relaxing even as it set off new flares of pain running along his skin.  "Oversensitive?"  

The question held a dangerous edge that set off sparks around the base of Tony's spine.  "Yeah," he gasped out.

"Good."  His finger began to withdraw, but paused again at Tony’s entrance and was joined by another. Tony thought he heard a soft exhalation before Bruce spoke again.  “Color?”

He shouldn’t want more, not yet, not with every inch of his skin tight and tense, feeling every touch as sharp and raw as the strap had been.  His cock hung limp between his legs, aching pleasantly with the echoes of his orgasm.  But beneath all of it, he felt the pull of Bruce’s desire, and wanted nothing more than to remain under his his strong, sure control, whatever that meant.  

“Green.”

Bruce’s free hand gave Tony’s ass a little squeeze, the gesture obviously affectionate in spite of the shock of pain it set off.  And then the hand moved away again, as Bruce pushed into him with both fingers.  

This time Bruce didn’t take his time, didn’t tease or toy with him.  His fingers thrust and spread and coaxed him wider open with an efficiency that felt almost clinical. 

But there was nothing clinical about the noise that Bruce made when he lined himself up and thrust in.  Tony tensed.  He’d expected more time, more prep, more of _something_ , but instead Bruce was on him, in him, so deep that Bruce’s thighs pressed against Tony’s sore skin.

He paused there, and leaned over Tony’s body, his breathing heavy but slow in Tony’s ear.  “You are perfect like this.”  He pulled back and thrust a little, just enough to make Tony shudder against the sharp tension of his nerves.

And then Bruce shifted himself upright and started to fuck Tony in earnest, snapping his hips in a steady rhythm that battered Tony’s ass, inside and out.  

Tony’s balls ached, throbbing as every stroke grazed his prostate and lit up his skin.  His cock twitched pitifully, far to spent to get in the game, but trying anyway as Bruce took him, used him up and turned him inside out and sideways.  

He retained just enough presence of mind to listen to the pattern of Bruce’s breathing, to hear the rough sounds spilling from his throat.  None of this was for Tony’s benefit—no, after all the warnings and discussions, this was what Bruce wanted, what Bruce was taking for himself.  The thought was almost enough to get him hard all over again, or it would have been if that were remotely anatomically feasible.  As it was he could feel himself melting under the heat of Bruce’s desire, his awareness going soft around the edges.  He almost didn’t hear it when Bruce’s gasps and moans turned to a harsh whisper of “mine.  Oh, God, mine.”

“Yes, Bruce. Yes, Sir.”

Bruce froze for half a heartbeat, and then his grip tightened and his thrusts turned faster, harder.  He bent forward over Tony’s body as his rhythm dissolved, and Tony could swear that he could feel the throb of Bruce’s cock against the raw nerves of his ass.

They lay like that for a long moment, Bruce pressing close but holding himself up just enough that his weight didn’t fully fall onto Tony’s body.  One of Bruce’s hands moved to Tony’s jaw, and his thumb brushed over Tony’s cheek.  “I’m a selfish man, and you— you’re an incredible temptation.”

Tony lacked the slightest notion of what to say to that, and kept silent, feeling the words digging under his skin.  He'd never had an overabundance of modesty about anything, and Bruce was hardly the first person to find him attractive.  But something about this felt achingly different from the usual gawking, from the cheerful lust or calculated seductions of his various partners over the years.  He was used to people wanting _Tony Stark_ , the whole billionaire genius package. And here was Bruce—mild mannered, work-obsessed Dr. Banner—talking like Tony was some nubile innocent, more a body to fuck than a man to impress.  Tony felt a hot throb surge between his legs, and couldn't help but press himself up against Bruce's body.

Bruce's lips let out a soft little sound of satisfaction as he pulled away, sliding himself free and slipping off the bed.

For a moment Bruce didn’t speak again, and Tony realized with a sharp pang of disappointment that they might be done for the night.  Not that the whole thing hadn’t been worth it already, but his cock was slowly hardening again, and he couldn’t help but want more.  Still, if this was everything Bruce wanted to give him tonight, he couldn’t really argue.  He shifted to one side, trying to keep his expression casual as he looked up at Bruce.  “That was—“

Bruce didn’t let him get any further.  “We're not done.”  The words were low and certain, and unmistakably intended as a warning.  A soft smile touched his lips as he continued.  “That was just to take the edge off."

Tony felt the words shiver over his skin and he swallowed a renewed surge of lust.

"Kneel.”  Bruce gestured at the floor, and without considering it, Tony moved to do as he was told.

His knees had barely hit the carpet when Bruce's fingers slid over his hair, down to cup his cheek, and further, until he could feel the press of them at his neck, against his jugular.  The gesture drew Tony's attention to his heartbeat, slower and steadier than he might have expected under the circumstances.  Even as his skin tingled in anticipation of whatever Bruce would do next, the rest of him felt calm.

Bruce pulled his hand away and stepped into the en suite.  Tony heard the water running, and after a few long minutes Bruce returned, a washcloth in hand.

"Wrists together, behind your back."

Tony did that too, and watched the slow, dangerous smile on Bruce's face.  Bruce crouched down in front of him, and without comment ran the damp cloth over Tony's stomach, cleaning him briskly without giving the impression that he knew or cared the effect it was having on Tony.  He must have noticed when the cloth reached Tony’s groin and ran over his now mostly-hard cock, but he said nothing.

That done, Bruce stood and circled him, stopping once he was behind Tony and out of his line of sight.  

Tony felt rough pressure between his legs.  He gasped, trying to work out what it was, but he could hardly think of anything but the raw shock of it against the welts on his skin.  Bruce's shoe, he realized—Bruce hadn't even taken his goddamned shoes off.  The pressure grew, and Tony heard an impatient little cough and finally took the hint and spread his knees, settling lower on the carpet.  He listened as Bruce bent and felt the washcloth again, this time over the remnants of the drying lube between his cheeks.

The washcloth was perfectly ordinary—soft even—but against his skin it felt like sandpaper, and Tony let himself whimper a little.

"It's going to hurt more when I fuck you again, but you're going to like it."

Tony swallowed, feeling his blood heat with the knowledge that Bruce was right.  He waited for Bruce to set aside the washcloth, to open him up and take him again.  But instead Bruce set it aside and stood, moving to cup Tony's cheek in one hand.

Tony opened his eyes, not sure when he'd closed them.  He could make out Bruce's cock under the confines of his pants, and Tony felt his tongue dart out to moisten his lips before he realized what he was doing.  He glanced up to see if Bruce had caught the gesture, and the sharp desire in Bruce's eyes sure as hell looked like a yes.

“For now, you're going to suck me," Bruce told him, casually drawing down the fly of his pants and drawing out his cock.

Tony swallowed again and leaned forward, bringing his hands up to brace himself against Bruce's thighs.

Bruce made a chiding sound and grasped Tony's wrists before they could reach him.  "I didn't give you permission to move your hands."

Right.  Tony nodded and shoved his hands back behind him.  When he leaned forward again to bring his lips to the tip of Bruce's dick, the motion felt unsteady and vulnerable, somehow far more intimate than the occasional cocksucking that Tony made part of his repertoire.

Even so he was determined to make it good.  More than just showing off, he wanted to please Bruce, wanted to hear Bruce's moans.  Wanted, he could admit at least to himself, Bruce to praise him, to tell him he was good.

So Tony let his lips part around the head of Bruce's half-hard cock and sucked him in, briefly teasing at the crown before pushing past.  He angled himself as best he could and kept on going, taking Bruce in until his rapidly hardening dick hit the back of his throat.  He swallowed then, deliberately, trying to use the muscles of his throat to draw him even further.

Bruce groaned above him, and the hand he'd left on Tony's cheek circled back to lace in Tony’s hair.  The gesture didn't hurt, and left Tony free to set his own pace, but even so it carried a threat that shivered over his skin.

He shifted further forward, pushing himself to take all of Bruce, as deep as he could go.  But just as the head of Bruce's cock began to fill his throat, making him gag a little in the best possible way, Tony felt tight pain at the back of his scalp, jerking his head back and off Bruce's cock.

Tony blinked, startled at the sharp gesture, and looked up at Bruce.

To his surprise Bruce's eyes were dark, but with anger more than lust.

"I told you to suck me.  I didn't tell you to choke on me."  

The tone hurt more than the rough handling had.  Tony's lips parted to make some apology before he realized that he didn't know what he was apologizing for, why Bruce had reacted the way he did.

Bruce seemed to read as much in Tony's face, and his own eyes softened.  Bruce released Tony's scalp and ran a thumb over his cheek.  "Before we started all this, what's the one thing you told me to avoid?"

At first Tony honestly couldn't remember what he was talking about.  Bruce stood there, patient, waiting.  Maybe it was that patience that called the memory to mind—standing in the communal kitchen with Natasha and Clint just outside, trying to convince Bruce that he really knew what he was doing.  “Make sure I don’t choke,” he'd said.  Of course Bruce remembered, of course he'd think of it, even in the middle of—  Tony flushed.  "I told you to make sure I could breathe."

Bruce nodded.  "And I'm going to."  He shifted to tuck his cock away.

Tony looked away in disappointment.  And more than that, in embarrassment.  He'd fucked up, couldn't remember the rules to his own game, and because of him, Bruce wasn't getting the blowjob Tony had really wanted to give.

But Bruce caught that too.  "Hey," he said, turning Tony's face back to him.  “You wanted to please me.  That’s good.  That is—“ Bruce's voice cut off, like he wasn't quite sure how to express everything it was.  “—very good," he finally managed.  "But there are a hundred ways you can please me that won’t cross any lines for you, and it’s my job to make sure we stick with those.”

"I can—“

"Not now.  Right now you're going to get on your hands and knees again."  Bruce bent down, close to his ear.  "Trust me, I'm going to enjoy this just as much."  His rough voice left no doubt that it was true.

Tony swallowed and did as he was told, leaning forward on his elbows and exposing himself again.  The position felt almost neutral now, not half as vulnerable as how Bruce had had him earlier, but even so when Bruce knelt next to him and ran a hand down over his side, Tony shivered.

And then Bruce grabbed his ass hard, digging into the sore skin while two slick fingers of his other hand pushed their way past the tight ring of muscle.  Once again Bruce's aim was dead on target, and Tony felt his mind empty of everything but the rushing pleasure as his body sang under Bruce's control.

He thought that he was about to come undone again, the way he had the last time, under just the touch of Bruce's hand.  But the pleasure ebbed just before it became too much, subsiding into the soft rhythm of slow strokes that merely grazed his prostate, never offering the deep pressure he needed. Tony let his weight fall further forward, his ass higher in the air, even shame forgotten as he let himself drift through the symphony of sensations that Bruce drew out of his body.

For a time he felt content to do nothing more than enjoy the way Bruce played with his body, finger fucking him while drawing hot little bites of pain from his skin.  

Bruce shifted the hand on his ass to move between his thighs, grasping at his balls to roll them between his fingers—all pleasure at first, but resolving into a grip that threatened a deeper pain.  Tony's breath caught, the anticipation overtaking his pleasure for an instant, until Bruce's fingers moved again inside him and made his cock throb.

"Please.  Oh, please, Bruce."  He wasn't entirely sure what he was asking for, and Bruce just chuckled and gave no answer, his hands keeping their own rhythm until Tony felt himself tremble on the edge.  And yeah, OK, that was clearly what he wanted, for Bruce to keep going for just one more moment and let him come—screw whatever else Bruce might have had in mind, there wasn’t anything Tony needed right then but release.

The release that came, though, it was another kind entirely, and not at all welcome.  Bruce’s hands left his body, their absence like a sudden shock of cold air.

Bruce stood, all nonchalance, and picked up the washcloth to wipe the lube from his fingers.

Tony's lungs worked, bringing in air to fuel his racing pulse as he tried to recover himself and figure out what Bruce intended next.  He watched as Bruce casually sauntered to a wide armchair and sat back.  Bruce's eyes fixed on Tony's naked body as he reached into his own pants and brought himself out, drawing his hand up and down in a couple of casual strokes.  He finally let his gaze fix on Tony's face and he patted one thigh with his free hand.  "Come here."

Tony scrambled to his feet to obey the command before he could process what Bruce was asking for, but as he approached the chair he faltered, waiting for some clearer indication.  Bruce gave it to him when he got within arms' reach, grasping Tony by the waist and guiding him to perch over Bruce's lap, his back against Bruce’s chest.  

Tony sucked in a breath as Bruce drew him closer.  The hard pressure of Bruce's cock below and behind him, pressing against his ass, set his blood racing. He couldn't restrain himself—not that he tried—from straining downward. He managed to get himself lined up, but Bruce's hands on his thighs stopped him just short of impaling himself on Bruce's length.

Tony whined his disappointment, even as he relished the power of Bruce's grip.

Bruce tsked. Tony could hear the smile on his lips when he spoke. "Ask permission first."

For a moment, no words came, and Tony could only writhe under Bruce's hands. But when he gave no ground, Tony swallowed and made an attempt. "Can I—?”

"Can you what?"

It took another few breaths, a little more of the mounting tension of his nerves, before he could try again to get the words out.  "Can I fuck myself on your cock?"  No response, and a heartbeat later he remembered to add “Sir,” his tone actually respectful.

"Not yet."  One of Bruce's hands came up to stroke his cheek and turn his face to one side. Tony swallowed hard as his eyes found the long mirror set into the inside of the bathroom door, which Bruce must have left open for the express purpose of providing this view.

"Quite a picture, don't you think?"

Tony averted his eyes, as if that might calm the squirming embarrassment that heated his face.

"When I ask a question I expect an answer," Bruce chided, steel behind the gentle tone. "What do you think?"

“It’s—“ Tony stopped, unwilling to describe the hot surge that flooded him every time he looked up to see the desperate, abject desire on his own face.

But apparently Bruce knew already.  “Humiliating,” he supplied, his voice thick and satisfied.  “Look.”

Tony did as he was told, didn’t even really think of refusing.  The mirror told all his secrets, in the flush of his skin and the obscene jut of his cock, the way his hips couldn’t quite keep still where they held him poised over Bruce’s lap.  His dick throbbed to see it and he couldn’t help but grind down harder, helpless against the lust that raged through his blood.   The rush of humiliation colored his cheeks but didn’t even begin to dampen his need.

“It’s not a bug for you. It’s a feature.”  Bruce reached around to grab Tony’s cock, giving it a long, slow pull that sent pleasure shuddering through Tony’s body.  “You love that I can do this to you.  You love that you can’t help yourself.”

Tony met his own eyes in the mirror and knew that it was true.  “Yeah.  Yes, Sir.”

"Keep watching."

Tony couldn't quite suppress a whine of disappointment when Bruce's hand left his cock, but he swallowed it as Bruce dragged his thumbnail over the skin of Tony's chest on the way up to his nipple. Without preamble, Bruce closed thumb and forefinger over the nub and twisted. Pain shot through Tony's body, straight down to his cock, and he felt a new surge of need to be filled, taken.

"Please, Sir. Can I—“

“Yes.”

He plunged down, fucking himself in earnest in spite of—maybe because of—the raw shock of pain as Bruce’s cock filled him. His eyes shut for an instant as he focused on nothing but that sensation. But Bruce's voice, and a particularly vicious twist to his nipple, jolted his eyes open again.

"Don't look away."

So he didn't. He looked into the mirror, met his own eyes, and watched as the hard rhythm brought him closer and closer to his climax. The pain, the sharp thrusts of Bruce's cock, the rasp of Bruce's breath in his ear, and, yeah, the desperation on his own face conspired to send rich pleasure surging through him, building until he couldn't contain it.

"May I— may I come?" he gasped out, surprising himself with the question.

Bruce groaned and thrust up into Tony, disturbing his rhythm with the power of it. "Wait."

Tony started to object that he couldn't possibly, that he literally had no chance of keeping himself from coming, but then Bruce's hand clamped down around the base of Tony's cock. Tony could feel his balls still drawn up tight, could feel every nerve of his cock and the hot, deep ache suffusing his entire body. The sensations battered up against Bruce's tight grip as Bruce fucked him for a few more sharp strokes before he finally whispered "yes" and shifted his grip. He gave Tony's cock two hard pulls and suddenly everything disappeared in a rush of pleasure. Bruce didn't let him go, didn't stop fucking him while Tony spent himself, throbbing through the gorgeous aftershocks that Bruce's strokes drew out far longer than he would have thought possible.

“Thank you, Sir,” he gasped, his voice ragged.

Bruce’s hand slipped off his cock, but the fingers on his nipple tightened, twisting painfully, and he thrust harder, wild and fierce.  

Tony moaned at the pain like it was his orgasm come again.  “Thank you, Sir,” he repeated, an earnest whisper that he couldn’t keep back.

Bruce groaned and pulled Tony down harder, his cock moving impossibly deeper as his head fell forward onto Tony’s shoulder.  For a long moment Tony could only listen to Bruce’s harsh breaths and feel him shudder against Tony’s body.  

Bruce finally stilled himself and let his grip on Tony turn feather light, one palm stroking down Tony’s chest whir the other rubbed gentle circles against his hip.  Tony felt Bruce’s lips plant a kiss against his neck, and felt the tickle of his breath as he pulled away just enough to speak.  “You are so good.  You were so good for me.”

A mellow warmth replaced the hot throb of orgasm, and Tony looked away from the mirror, suddenly a little afraid again to look. As if now, when they were finished, seeing himself would cause a flood of shame and regret.

Bruce exhaled, so close that Tony could feel it on the back of his neck. He ran a hand down Tony's chest and up again, gentle and calm. 

"You don't have to look if you don't want to. But I'm looking, and what I see is incredible."

He sounded so sure, so... reverent, that Tony couldn't help but look. His eyes went to Bruce first, and saw in his face a deep satisfaction that stirred an echo in Tony's chest. When he finally pulled his gaze away from Bruce and towards his own reflection, he let out a slow breath and frankly stared. He was still flushed, still naked and pressed against Bruce’s almost fully clothed body. But there was nothing undignified about it. Tony had never been particularly inclined to apply the word beautiful to men, and least of all to himself, but in that moment it was the only word that came to mind.

Tony allowed himself to just look, not counting the seconds or minutes, his eyes flitting back and forth between himself and Bruce, taking it in. A warm relaxation infused his body, and his usual restless energy took its time in returning. Just as it began to, Bruce gave his arm a casual squeeze.

“I’d like you to stay.”

It wasn’t exactly an order, but it wasn’t quite a request either. Tony twisted to gauge his expression.

Bruce smiled hesitantly, some of his old awkwardness coming out behind the calm confidence he’d maintained throughout the evening. “We can move this out of the bedroom, if you’d prefer. I’d like to continue, but if you’d rather grab a pizza, hang out until you come down, that’s fine too.”

“I’d, uh, be good to stay here.”

Bruce smiled. “Then get up on the bed, on your belly.”

“Yes, sir.” It wasn’t a joke, but it wasn’t entirely respectful either, and the wry twist to Bruce’s smile suggested that he knew it, and didn’t mind. Maybe that was because Tony was already doing as he was told, climbing up onto the bed and stretching himself out across it.

Bruce moved to straddle him again, and this time when Tony felt his hands they were massaging him gently. The touch was firm enough not to tickle, and drew a warm echo of pain from somewhere below Tony’s skin. It was good, like the sweet ache after a good workout, and Tony found himself relaxing to the point of drowsiness. He thought he was hiding it well until a yawn escaped him, and Bruce chucked. “You’re welcome to fall asleep, you know.”

“I don’t usually—“ he gestured vaguely, “—you know, sleep. With people.” 

Bruce didn’t answer, or shift the slow rhythm of the massage. 

Tony yawned again. “I guess I could make an exception.”

“I’d like that,” Bruce murmured.

Tony felt his eyes drift shut and was almost at the point of sleep when a thought occurred, and he turned his head to look up at Bruce. “This thing— this was good.”

Tony watched Bruce’s throat work as he swallowed. When Bruce answered, Tony didn’t think he was imagining that his voice was a little thick. “Yeah. It was.”

“But it’s only—“ No, too earnest. He forced himself to shift to a lighter tone. “You’ll still respect me in the morning?”

Bruce laughed. “I never stopped respecting you, and I’m not about to.”

“Okay then. Just so we're clear."

"We're clear."


End file.
